Let Them Lie
by abitweird
Summary: An AU retelling of the episode "Sleeping Dogs", to make more out of the drama aboard the Klingon vessel and Malcolm's "damn cold". Contains dialogue and scenes from the episode along with additional scenes, a change of plot and a massively alternative ending. Rated for mild swearing, violence and some h/c.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 is a basic retelling of the start of "Sleeping Dogs" but with 1 additional scene. If you're familiar with the episode or just want to get on with the story, feel free to skip to Chapter 2!

* * *

Ensign Hoshi Sato suppressed the urge to sigh as she carefully reloaded the phase pistol, her elegant fingers completing the task with practiced ease. If only she found everything else about this easy... she watched as Lieutenant Malcolm Reed affixed the target projector to a bulkhead. This was the sixth day running she had requested target practice with him, and she had expected him to grow tired of watching her fail consistently, but he seemed as calm and patient today as he had every other day. However, she had noticed him cough quietly and rub his throat a few times, when he seemed to think she wasn't watching him, and she wondered if tiredness was getting to him. She was, after all, taking up his free time with her insistence at target practice. She felt a flash of guilt and reminded herself that with her new-found resolution to space travel and exploration, she had to improve her tactical skills if she ever wanted to be included on away missions. Translating alien languages should not put her on the front line of combat, but every officer was expected to be able to defend themselves if the need arose.

Reed switched on the projector and the target materialised a few feet in front of her. He returned to her side, as she took up a firing position.

"You have a ten second firing window," he informed her, "ready?"

Mustering herself, Hoshi tried to sound confident as she replied; "ready."

Reed glanced down at his data pad, pressed a button and simultaneously told her; "Go."

The cube-shaped target with its bright orange cross hairs immediately began to move. Hoshi immediately began firing, trying to keep the motion fluid and her arm locked on the target, but she mentally cursed in a different language every time she saw the target flash red instead of green, indicating a miss.

"Time," Reed announced, stopping the target.

The target dematerialised, and Hoshi dropped her arm back to her side, tuning back to face the lieutenant. She already knew she had not done well, and she also knew that the target was on one of the lowest difficulty settings. Reed was hands-down the best marksman on board, everybody knew that, and she wanted to learn from the best, but she still felt slow and useless with the unfamiliar weapon.

"That any better?" she asked, optimistically, but deep down she already knew the answer.

"Your hit-to-miss ratio is still below fifty percent," Reed replied, but there was no rebuke in his voice; he even quirked a tiny smile as he added; "if those had been live rounds, you'd have blown out two or three bulkheads."

Hoshi huffed as she turned away, unable to hide her disappointment in her performance.

"I never had this much trouble with the EM-33," she commented, pursing her lips in frustration.

Reed placed his pad down on the armoury workbench, and turned back towards her, reaching out to take the phase pistol from her unresisting fingers.

"This is an entirely new weapon," he said, gently, as he took it and switched it off, "unlike the EM-33, you don't have to compensate for particle drift. Just point," he made a fluid motion with his arm, demonstrating as he spoke, "straight - at - the - target."

She watched his arm move gracefully as he mimicked pointing the weapon at a moving target, emphasising each word. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she never compensated for particle drift with the EM-33, it was just that the drift and the broader beam of the EM-33 had compensated for her poor marksmanship by hitting the target regardless. She much preferred deciphering alien syntax to this; okay, so Reed could not do what she did at all, but she still needed to at least be able to shoot straight.

"Try to keep your shoulders relaxed," Reed suggested, switching the phase pistol back on and handing to back to her, "it's hard to aim properly when you're tense."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and dropped her shoulders back, willing herself to relax. She wanted so badly to succeed at this so that she could go on away missions; she kept reminding herself that this was necessary and that Reed had been nothing but patient, he was doing his very best to help her and she was coming along a little. When she had first started her hit to miss ratio had been below twenty percent...

Her train of thought was broken when Reed coughed, audibly, raising a hand to his throat and wincing as he did so; she noticed then that he did look rather pale.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, fine," he murmured, and, as if embarrassed to have been caught in a moment of weakness, he quickly switched the subject back to her target practice with a reassuring; "you'll get the hang of it. Let's try for twenty seconds this time..."

Hoshi heard the slight rasp in his voice as he spoke, but she was already turning back towards the target projected while he pressed a few commands into his pad. However, they were both distracted by the slight shiver that ran through the ship and the audible whine as the warp engines powered down to impulse drive.

"I thought we were supposed to be staying at warp for the next few days?" Hoshi queried, as Reed crossed over to the armoury wall console to check the readouts.

"Oh," he raised his eyebrows, "we're approaching a gas giant – class nine."

They both knew, without speaking, that this meant they needed to report to their stations, which for Hoshi meant reporting to the Bridge. Reed could easily check in on duty from the armoury. She glanced back at the target projector one last time.

"So much for target practice..."

Reed smiled and patted her shoulder, a gesture of comfort that lifted her spirits, even if just a little.

"We'll pick it up tomorrow," he assured her, taking back the phase pistol once more and turning it off, allowing her to leave to report to her post to see what the gas giant would bring.

* * *

The small probe streaked towards the outer atmosphere of the gas giant, seeking to plunge into the gaseous depths of the mysterious planet. On the Bridge of the _Enterprise NX-01_ , the crew waited in eager anticipation. They were still feeling the exhilaration of exploration and this was something new and exciting to catalogue. Only one member of the Bridge crew did not share in the sense of awe and wonderment at this phenomenon.

"The probe has entered the outer atmosphere," Sub-Commander T'Pol, of the Vulcan embassy, reported smoothly, her sharp features highlighted by the blue light from the scanner relay.

At her words, the probe began transmitting an image to the Bridge view screen; it showed a brownish-orange planetoid, awash with static.

"Can we clean up the signal?" asked Captain Jonathan Archer, glancing across at Hoshi.

"I'm trying, sir..." Hoshi pressed her fingers to her earpiece, concentrating on the output, "there's a lot of EM interference...it sounds very... strange."

"Intense magnetic fields often create unique waveforms," T'Pol offered, informatively.

"Let's hear them," Archer said.

An eerie, ghost-like whine filled the bridge, rising and falling in an ethereal crescendo. The sounds were definitely alien and unusual, though oddly harmonic, and Archer realised that the entire Bridge crew was captivated – except, of course, for T'Pol.

"Siren calls," Ensign Travis Mayweather smiled, and, when Archer merely looked at him in askance, the young ensign explained; "that's what we called them when I was a kid. My dad would put them through the speakers whenever we flew by a gas giant. Huh – gave me nightmares sometimes!"

Archer listened for a moment longer, and then nodded to Hoshi to turn off the weird sounds.

"Other than keeping Ensign Mayweather up at night, I'm not sure what we expect to accomplish here," T'Pol remarked, dryly, "there are four gas giants in your own solar system."

"None of them are class nine," Archer replied, approaching her console to address her directly, "I think this one's worth a closer look."

Even as he spoke, one of the Bridge consoles began emitting a soft but persistent chirping. T'Pol turned away from the captain and lowered her gaze to the sensor array, quickly recalibrating the sensor to analyse the readings.

"I'm reading an anomalous power signature in the lower atmosphere," she reported, turning back to the captain, as she added; "and several bio-signs."

Archer turned towards the view screen, his mind reeling with the news – he wondered who else could be here, and what were they doing so deep in the atmosphere of a gas giant? All he knew was that he had to find out, and that this class 9 gas giant had just become even more interesting.

"Get the probe closer," he ordered, calmly, not wanting to let his excitement show.

"Aye sir."

Through the static on the view screen, a blurry outline of a ship became visible; a dark, hulking shadow against the broiling orange-brown smoke of the atmosphere. Archer gazed at it, and instantly wanted to know more.

* * *

As soon as Hoshi left the armoury, Reed placed the phase pistol back in the protective storage case and locked it. He stowed it back in the locker and closed it firmly, following the correct safety protocols for the storage of weaponry aboard a starship. It was only then that he allowed himself to sink into a chair. He coughed, wincing, raising his hand to his throat. He'd been lying when he'd said he was fine to Hoshi; the truth was he was beginning to feel pretty awful. His head was thumping, his eyes were sore, his throat felt like he'd swallowed shards of glass, and his nose was starting to itch.

As if on cue, he sneezed, and groaned. It was not allergies; he knew all too well what that felt like. No, this was an encroaching misery known to virtually every single human being that had ever lived. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was coming down with a cold, and he'd been fighting it unsuccessfully for the last two or three days. He was now rapidly losing the battle. He was operating on very little sleep and even less food; he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper meal, he seemed to spend all of his time just trying to keep the ship's weapons on spec and training the untested crew in the use of their new phase pistols, with varying degrees of success.

He heard the door open, and glanced up, getting to his feet. Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker appeared, his sleeves rolled up, a crate gripped firmly between both hands, a cheery smile plastered across his face.

"Good mornin', Lieutenant," he drawled, happily, dumping the crate haphazardly on the table, "gotcha them power relays you were askin' after for the targetin' scanners."

"Ah," Reed nodded, surreptitiously reaching for the table to lean against it as his balance wavered slightly, "thank you... I... ah..."

He broke off and sneezed, hard.

"God bless," Trip reacted automatically, then added; "jeeze, lieutenant, you look like hell. You feelin' okay?"

"Yes, I'm fi-"

He was interrupted by another violent sneeze, followed by a fit of coughing. He was suddenly aware of a strong hand at his elbow and he found himself sitting in a chair. He blinked to clear his blurry vision and found Tucker staring at him in open concern.

"You ain't fine, lieutenant," the commander said, with certainty, "you need to go to the infirmary."

Reed gave a short bark of a hoarse laugh; "No, thank you. I'm fine. It's just a cold."

"Well, we can't have you infecting the rest of the crew," Tucker replied, a mischievous glint in his eye, "look, you can go of your own accord or I can make it an order...?"

Reed was saved from arguing by a summons from the ship-wide communications relay.

 _"_ _Archer to Lieutenant Reed."_

Reed stood up and walked on unsteady legs to the wall panel; "Reed here, go ahead, Captain."

 _"_ _Lieutenant, sensors have detected a ship in the lower atmosphere of the gas giant; I want you on the away team to assess the vessel. You'll depart on the shuttlepod in twenty minutes. Grab your gear, Malcolm."_

"Acknowledged, Captain. Reed out."

He thumbed the channel closed and turned to find Tucker standing almost directly behind him.

"You're goin' to see Phlox first."

"Sorry, Commander, you heard the Captain..."

"It'll take you five minutes, Lieutenant.," Tucker retorted, holding up his hand with fingers spread to emphasise his point, before grasping the Armoury Officer's elbow, "Come on – I'll drop you there on my way back to Engineerin'. At least let the doc give you somethin' to take the edge off."

Lacking the time or the energy to argue, Reed heaved a sigh, and obediently allowed the Engineer to escort him out of the armoury.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time he reached sickbay, Malcolm Reed was sneezing almost uncontrollably and his throat burned with pain. He sat miserably on the edge of the bed in sickbay, reaching for another tissue. He sneezed into it, violently, and then balled it up.

"We can travel faster than the speed of light," he commented, his voice sounding hoarse and stuffy even to his own ears, "you'd think we could find a cure for the common cold!"

"You should be grateful the human cold is so mild," Dr Phlox replied, plucking the soiled tissue from his hand with gloved fingers to dispose of it, "I once had a patient with the, ah, Kamaraazite Flu. He sneezed so violently he nearly regurgitated his pineal gland."

Reed considered this for a moment, and shrugged, fatalistically.

"I don't see how I could catch a cold on a hermetically sealed starship."

"Oh, you may have picked up the virus from a piece of equipment, or it could have been lurking inside a sealed container," Phlox expounded, even as he prepared a hypo-spray.

"I did open a case of plasma coolant..."

"Ah," Phlox shrugged, "whoever packed that case was probably nursing a cold."

Reed grabbed another tissue and sneezed into it, before exclaiming; "But that was back in spacedock - five months ago!"

"You underestimate the tenacity of a virus, lieutenant," Phlox replied, gently taking the used tissue from his patient, "it can lay dormant for months; adapt itself to whatever environment it finds itself in, hmm? This should ease the symptoms..."

Phlox delivered the injection straight into Reed's neck, even as the armoury officer winced in disgust.

"But," the doctor added, his voice taking a sterner tone, "the only cure I know of involves bed rest."

He emphasised the end of his sentence to stress the point, but Reed was already shaking his head.

"Oh no – no, no, that'll have to wait," Reed was already getting to his feet, "the captain wants me on the team investigating that shipwreck."

"Ah," Phlox nodded, slowly, "well, you won't be contagious inside a containment suit, just... try not to sneeze in your helmet."

Reed nodded, but was already taking in a deep breath, as if to sneeze. Phlox reached for the box of tissues to offer him one, but the lieutenant somehow suppressed the sneeze, steeled himself, and nodded; "I'll do my best."

Phlox offered him a reassuring smile, as the sniffling armoury officer left sickbay.

* * *

The shuttlepod dipped towards the gas giant; the planet loomed beneath them, huge and ominous. Reed blinked at the console before him, resisting the urge to wipe sweat from his brow. Even in his environmental suit, the shuttle was not especially warm; the life support system maintained a constant ambient temperature, but he could feel a prickle of sweat across his forehead. Whatever Phlox had given him to 'ease the symptoms' was wearing off a lot faster than he had hoped.

"It's one hundred kilometres below us," he reported, trying to make his voice sound stronger than he felt, "still descending..."

"Gravity is pulling it deeper into the atmosphere," T'Pol told him, "at their current altitude, pressure is fifteen thousand GSC."

"Ah – that's well within our hull tolerance," Reed commented, as he made a slight course adjustment.

"For the moment," T'Pol said, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary, "but the rate that vessel is sinking, we'll have an hour at most."

Recalling the Vulcan's words to her before departure, Hoshi could not resist a teasing; "You sound... uncomfortable... sub-commander."

"I'm merely stating facts," the other woman replied, rechecking the sensor readings again.

"We'll be on our way back well before we'll be in any danger," Reed reassured them both, "I, for one, have no interest in imploding a valuable shuttlepod."

"Or three valuable officers," Hoshi added, darkly.

Without warning, the shuttlepod began to shake and shudder alarmingly. Hoshi's gaze flicked quickly between Reed and T'Pol, wanting to shout out, but the two senior officers seemed unconcerned so she remained quiet.

"We've entered a layer of liquid helium," T'Pol reported.

Reed's gloved hands danced nimbly across the controls as he compensated and adjusted their course in response, and the shuddering soon stopped. He breathed a slight sigh of relief and was glad the other two could not see the pallor of his drawn features, the thin film of sweat on his face, or the way his hands shook slightly on the controls. He was beginning to feel more than a little unwell, but he knew he had to carry on regardless. The safety of his crewmates was of paramount importance; he could deal with being ill once the mission was over.

"We're clear," said T'Pol, somewhat unnecessarily, as Hoshi quirked a smile of relief.

"That wasn't so bad," she said, as if to reassure herself as much as the others.

On the viewscreen, the alien ship finally came into sight, a dark, looming shadow that materialised from the orange mists. It had a blockish shape to it with long, sweeping wings. Reed could not help notice that it was bedecked with weapons, and this immediately put him on alert. Such a heavily-armed ship could mean that the occupants might be hostile. He resolved to take extra precautions during their exploration of the ominous, alien craft.

"One hundred metres," T'Pol's ever-calm voice told them.

"Is that a hatch on the port side?" Hoshi asked, leaning forwards in her chair.

"I see it," Reed confirmed.

"Fifty metres... forty..." T'Pol counted down their approach, as Reed concentrated on piloting the tiny shuttlepod against the bulk of the mighty-looking ship.

A soft but insistent beeping caught Hoshi's attention; "What's that?" she asked, and then mentally kicked herself for her anxious tone.

"It's just a proximity alarm," Reed said, calmly, activating the docking procedures.

"Twenty metres... ten..."

There was a pause and then a slight jolt as the shuttlepod connected with the docking port of the unknown ship. T'Pol engaged the docking interface, and then, within a few short moments, the three of them found themselves disembarking the shuttle. Reed led the way; although T'Pol was technically his senior, he was in charge of their safety and that meant confronting any danger that they might encounter. He stepped through the hatch, into the corridor, his first glance of this mysterious vessel.

It was dark in the hallway; the headlamp from his helmet lit up the walls. Main power seemed to be offline, as there was little sign of life. However, the emergency systems must have been operating, as T'Pol told them there was a Oxygen-Nitrogen atmosphere aboard the ship. That meant it should be breathable, but someone would have to be the first to try it.

"Carbon Dioxide levels are high, but there's nothing toxic," T'Pol added, "it's breathable."

"You first," Hoshi said, glancing at Reed.

He nodded; he would have insisted anyway, rather than placing his teammates in jeopardy. Willing his hands not to shake and wishing he didn't feel so weak and miserable, Reed reached up and unfastened the safety seal of his helmet. There was a hiss of air escaping from the suit's atmosphere as it powered down, and Reed took his first lungful of air, forced to breath through his mouth as his nose was still horribly blocked and congested. The air was decidedly warm and stale; there was an odd metallic taste to it but a second breath told him it was not going to kill him, so he nodded to the others to remove their helmets. They both did so but both visibly reacted to the air, even the usually stoic T'Pol pulling a slight face of – was that disgust? H features quickly smoothed once more into the emotionless mask, but Reed had definitely seen something. Hoshi's cough and T'Pol's comment confirmed it.

"Perhaps we should leave the helmets on..." the Vulcan stated.

"What is it?" Reed asked, concerned.

"You can't smell that?" Hoshi's voice was incredulous.

"No," Reed shook his head, dolefully, "this damned cold..."

"Count your blessings..." Hoshi remarked, as she turned away.

Reed certainly did not feel blessed; his throat felt sandpaper-rough, his nose was blocked, his head was pounding, and it was a lot warmer aboard this ship than it had been aboard the shuttlepod; as such, he was starting to feel very hot and uncomfortable in the EV suit already.

They began to make their way through the corridors, when Hoshi stopped and pointed to a bulkhead.

"You two might want to take a look at this... It says 'deck two, red sector'."

"In what language?" Reed asked, immediately; the hairs on the back of his neck were already prickling as his sense for danger began to buzz.

Hoshi's reply made his security instinct kick into a higher notch, and he immediately drew his weapon when she turned and said, in a grim voice; "Klingon."

* * *

As soon as T'Pol told them that she had detected three bio-signs, Reed took the lead once more, and they made their way to the source of the bio-readings. Weak readings or not, he moved with practiced caution, sweeping every corridor and doorway before gesturing for the others to follow, his equipment case clutched in his left hand, phase pistol in his outstretched right hand. They soon found themselves standing on what must have been the Klingon Bridge. Three Klingon crewmembers were slumped unconscious either over their consoles or on the floor.

"They're still alive," T'Pol reported, even as they explored the unfamiliar Bridge, "We should leave before they regain consciousness..."

"And what if they don't?" Reed challenged, but then broke off, coughing.

Hoshi spared him a concerned glance, but he waved it off and she turned away. He was vaguely aware of Hoshi and T'Pol having a brief debate about the Klingons; T'Pol wanting to leave them to die and Hoshi wishing to stay and help.

"If they awake and find us on their ship, they'll kill us," T'Pol said, firmly.

Unbeknownst to Reed and the others, several decks below, in the ship's galley, one Klingon was, indeed, waking up. Bu'Kah, the ship's cook, was regaining consciousness and she was not happy. Klingons always seem to get out of the wrong side of the bed... or in this case, the cold storage unit.

* * *

T'Pol made her report to the Captain while Reed and Hoshi, finally giving in to the humid atmosphere, removed their outer environmental suits. There were nine life signs on board, all now at risk of being crushed into something the size of a fist by the class nine gas giant. They had all apparently been taken out by an airborne neurotoxin that had, according to T'Pol, dissipated beyond the level capable of causing them any harm. They had twenty minutes to see if they could do anything for the crew and then get out. Those had been Archer's last orders before the transmission had broken up and they had lost the signal entirely.

The three of them were just discussing their limited options when a noise from the corridor alerted them; a doorway opening and closing. Something – most likely someone – was moving around the vessel. Reed instantly drew his phase pistol; T'Pol moved as if to follow, but he abruptly and silently gestured for her and Hoshi to stay put. It was his job to confront danger, not theirs. Thankfully, they obeyed, as he ventured out into the corridor. His senses were on high alert but he still felt slow and dull-witted, weighed down by his heavy cold. Still, the adrenaline coursing through his veins steadied his shaking hands, and his grip on the phase pistol was firm and sure as he swept through the passage, visually scanning every nook and cranny.

However, the attack, when it came, came from above. A heavy weight crashed into him the moment he stepped through a doorway and he found himself knocked to the floor. He swore as his phase pistol fired uselessly into the air before it was knocked from his grip and went skittering across the deck plates. He jammed his elbow back sharply, feeling it connect with his attacker's face; the grunt of surprise told him he had landed a successful blow, as did the loosening of his assailant's grip. He lashed out again, and then managed to kick himself free. He scrambled to his feet but his attacker was just as quick; he found himself face-to-face with a furious Klingon woman. He did not hesitate; his limited knowledge of the species told him the females were just as deadly as the males.

Reed lashed out with a powerful punch; the towering woman before him took it roundly on the jaw and rolled her head with the impact. He took no satisfaction from the sight of blood on her lip, nor did he have time to; her lightning-fast return punch to his jaw almost lifted him clean off the deck plates and sent him spinning, crashing to the floor.

"Shit," he swore, loudly, willing himself to stay conscious even as sparkles blurred out his vision.

A strong hand on his shoulder hauled him to his feet; he lashed out, blindly, feeling his fist connect hard with the Klingon's armour-plated sternum. He followed this up with a swift kick, and this time he must have found his mark, because the woman dropped him with a surprised grunt of pain. He balled and swung his fist and caught a cracking blow across her cheek, but he had already realised that he was no real match for the physically stronger alien.

With an enraged bellow, she grabbed him and threw him against the bulkhead, the back of his head connecting solidly with the metal plating. He was then lifted to his feet, by a powerful hand around his throat that cut of his air supply and left him dangling uselessly in the Klingon's grip. Choking, clawing at her hands, he tried to throw a punch but it was expertly blocked. Her fist connected hard with his right-hand side, eliciting a pained grunt; a second blow to the same spot resulted in an audible crack, pushing the remaining air from his lungs in an agonised cry; he was dimly aware that he might have a couple of broken ribs. He swung out again in blind, desperate self defence, but the Klingon roared at him and, of all things, slammed her ridged forehead forward into his own.

Pain, white hot and blinding, seared across his vision; the head-butt was designed to be a knockout blow and he barely hung to a slim thread of consciousness, unwilling to give in. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but saw only a meaty fist descending towards him; there was nothing he could do to prevent it. The blow knocked out what little consciousness he had left; he was out cold even before he collided with the bulkhead and slid to the floor, senseless.


	3. Chapter 3

Bu'Kah growled and snorted to herself, wiping the blood from her lip. The species of this small alien was unfamiliar to her, but she had heard them conspiring against her crew and the fact that they were on her ship, the _Somraw,_ made them enemies of the Klingon Empire. She had not expected so spirited a defence from the diminutive alien. She stepped over his fallen body and examined the hatch. There was a small alien vessel attached to it.

Briefly, she considered stealing the small ship and finding whatever larger craft the aliens had arrived in – the thing attached to her bird of prey was too small to be a long-distance interstellar craft. However, she abandoned the thought immediately. The thought of the dishonour of leaving her post made her growl in displeasure. She spat a curse, cycled the airlock, and jettisoned the small craft back into space. She would deal with the three aliens, and then salvage the ship and save her crew. She started by using a nearby access panel to activate the internal sensor scrambler, to stop the aliens from tracking her movements.

Turning towards the unconscious alien, Bu'Kah moved to break his neck. However, footsteps sounded down the corridor; Bu'Kah turned in their direction, and, in a heartbeat, made her decision. Leaving the fallen alien behind, she turned away and ran down the corridor. She was not fleeing the fight; she was going to find out what was going on, and then she was going hunting.

* * *

"He should have been back by now," Hoshi Sato was worried and trying, unsuccessfully, not to show it, "shouldn't he have been back by now?"

"Lieutenant Reed is a competent officer," T'Pol replied, smoothly, as she resumed her scans of the Klingons and their ship.

"I know," Hoshi was not mollified as she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, "but he's been gone for a while, and-"

She did not get to finish her thought; there was a jolt as the whole ship bucked and shifted.

"What was that?" Hoshi hated that her voice had gone up an octave, betraying her rising panic.

She had sworn to herself that she was going to remain calm and poised for this mission but that was currently evaporating faster than a snowflake in a volcano. T'Pol calmly checked her scanner, and quirked her eyebrow. Then, without a word, she drew her phase pistol, turned on her heel and strode off the Bridge. Hoshi hesitated for one moment, glanced once at the bulky Klingon passed out over his console, and dashed after the Vulcan.

"What was that?" Hoshi repeated, breathlessly, having to half-walk, half-jog to keep up with T'Pol's long stride, "What happened?"

"An airlock depressurised and the resulting release of air pressure pushed the ship into a pocket of liquid helium," T'Pol replied, without looking up from her scanner, "however, something is blocking my sensors."

"Something's blocking – what – an airlock?" Hoshi could feel the rising panic, a stark contrast to T'Pol's calm demeanour.

"Calm yourself, ensign," T'Pol told her, pocketing her near-useless scanner and adjusting her grip on the phase pistol, "we must investigate before drawing conclusions."

Hoshi was about to snap a sharp retort, when they rounded a corner, and her eyes fell on the crumpled form of a familiar figure, slumped against a bulkhead like a puppet with cut strings, and her anger and frustration left her in a horrified gasp; "Oh, my God! Lieutenant..."

She dropped to her knees beside the unconscious Reed, even as T'Pol stepped past them to examine the airlock. Reed was sitting up against a bulkhead, his head slumped to one side. Hoshi very gently cupped his jaw, gently probing his neck for a pulse. She breathed a huff of relief when she found one, stating; "He's alive."

T'Pol did not acknowledge this and Hoshi was briefly annoyed, taking the sub-commander's silence as an indication that she did not care one way or the other. However, her more pressing concern was Reed. He remained unresponsive beneath her gentle touch; even in the dim light of the corridor she could see red welts on his face that would soon blossom into impressive bruises. There was blood at the corner of his mouth, and his breath seemed to be rasping in his chest.

"Lieutenant?" Hoshi called to him, urgently, "Lieutenant Reed, can you hear me? Wake up!"

He did not respond, and Hoshi turned to T'Pol in desperation; "He's not responding – I can't wake him up. He must be hurt..."

"We have a rather more pressing concern to address," T'Pol replied, not taking her eyes off the console before her.

Hoshi could not believe what she was hearing; "A more pressing concern?" she repeated, incredulously, "Lieutenant Reed is hurt – we need to get him back to _Enterprise_ immediately!"

"Ensign," T'Pol finally met her gaze, her own expression a marble, emotionless mask, "we cannot leave. The airlock was depressurised because our shuttlepod is gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, gone? How can it be gone?"

"Presumably because someone took it," T'Pol said, slowly, as if speaking to a child, "Ensign, calm yourself. We cannot return to _Enterprise._ We are stranded here."

* * *

Cast adrift from its moorings, the shuttlepod emergency systems automatically activated. Internal sensors detected that there were no life-signs aboard the tiny vessel and, in response, the autopilot was brought online. Scanning the immediate area, the sensors were unable to detect the _Enterprise_ and the computer determined that this was due to high levels of electromagnetic interference. Sensors also beeped a warning; the shuttle was deep in the atmosphere of a class nine gas giant. The autopilot responded by setting a course to get the shuttle clear of the gas giant in order to resume scans and activate the emergency beacon. As such, the shuttlepod slowly began to rise, piloting away from the slowly sinking Klingon ship.

* * *

Back aboard the _Somraw_ , Bu'Kah crept through the ship until she reached the Reactor Pit. There did not seem to be any more than three aliens aboard. She had recognised a Vulcan female but the other two, apparently a male and a female, were unknown to her. However, they looked a lot like Vulcans, and Bu'Kah despised Vulcans – they had no code of honour, they were not warriors, and they were not to be trusted.

She glanced around engineering, eyeing her fallen crewmates; at least they had not abandoned their posts. She touched one of the computer consoles and it activate. Main power was offline due to a pressure failure in the port fusion reactor. Despite being the designated cook, all crew on a Klingon vessel were required to have working knowledge of a number of the ship's systems, less a more qualified colleague should fall in glorious battle, or prove themselves inadequate and have to be executed. She quickly surveyed the readouts before her; a number of key systems were offline, but by restoring the port fusion reactor she might be able to salvage her ship.

However, she still felt weak and ill; whatever had happened to her crew was affecting her as well. Falling in battle was one thing, but to die of a disease was not honourable! She took a knife from her belt and, making a small slit in her left finger, she pressed her blood onto a scanner. The computer would analyse it for her; she wished to know what the strange aliens had done to her and her crew; she had no doubt that the infection was deliberate. Leaving the computer to work, she turned her attention to the reactor core. She would extract her revenge on the invading aliens as soon as she was able to stop the ship from sinking into the core of the gas giant.

* * *

After discovering the loss of the shuttlepod, Hoshi could only raise her hands to her mouth in shock, staring at T'Pol.

"The shuttle's gone?" she repeated, again, in a horrified whisper, "what are we going to do?"

"Remain calm, ensign," T'Pol said, evenly, "we will return to the Bridge. We will resume our efforts to contact the _Enterprise_ and find a way to reactivate the ship's engines. We cannot allow this vessel to continue to sink into the lower atmosphere of the gas giant."

"We're stuck here," the terrifying realisation brought a shiver to Hoshi's spine, "we're trapped, on a sinking ship..."

"And we will do everything we can to escape," T'Pol added, firmly, "Ensign. You must remain calm. I will require your assistance in translating the Bridge consoles."

"What about Lieutenant Reed?" Hoshi cast a concerned glance at her fallen superior officer, "we can't just leave him here – and I can't carry him..."

"I shall carry him," T'Pol told her, and at her surprised look, the Science Officer added; "Vulcan has a higher gravitational force than Earth; Vulcans are therefore much physically stronger than humans."

In demonstration of this assertion, T'Pol crouched down beside the unconscious Reed, and, gathering him up in her arms, she lifted him as if he weighed no more than a sleeping child. Hoshi gaped at her for one moment, and then, at a silent raised eyebrow, she turned and hurried back towards the Bridge. Seeing T'Pol pick up the Armoury Officer as if he were a ragdoll might have been hugely entertaining had it not been for the dire circumstances, and it worried Hoshi immensely that Reed had not even stirred.

They arrived back on the Bridge and Hoshi took the precaution of sealing the door behind them, though she did realise there were still three Klingons in the room with them. T'Pol had assured her there was no danger of them waking up; the neurotoxin was slowly killing them. Without treatment, they would soon be dead.

T'Pol deposited Reed on the deck beside the doorway with surprising care, laying him down on his side. She straightened up, and turned back to one of the consoles that Hoshi had begun to translate earlier.

"Ensign, I require your assistance."

Hoshi hesitated, lingering by Reed's side; "Shouldn't we try to treat his injuries first?"

"Very soon, the hull will rupture and Lieutenant Reed's injuries will be the least of our concerns," T'Pol replied, without looking at her, tapping a few keys on a console and checking the readouts, "in any event, our medical supplies were stored aboard the shuttlepod."

Hoshi sighed, giving Reed a regretful look; she wondered how badly he was hurt, remembering that he had not been feeling well to begin with. He had no doubt fought with all his strength to prevent the loss of the shuttlepod. Hoshi turned away and crossed over to T'Pol. The Vulcan pointed to some red flashing text on a screen.

"What does this say?"

"Ah..." Hoshi peered at the display, "it says the life support systems are failing. Can we bring them back online?"

"Not without bringing main power back online, which will apparently require extensive repairs."

"I'm guessing we don't have time for that," Hoshi said, trying to hide her mounting nerves, "there must be some way off the ship – what about escape pods?"

"Klingons don't use escape pods. It would be considered an act of cowardice to abandon ship."

"Didn't stop one of them from stealing our shuttle," Hoshi commented, "maybe we can use their com system to contact _Enterprise?"_

"I doubt their com will penetrate the EM field any better than our own. If we can access their helm controls, we may be able to put this vessel into a stable orbit."

T'Pol pointed towards one of the control panels; "Start translating those consoles – look for anything marked 'propulsion', 'helm', 'navigation'."

"I'll try, but reading Klingon is a lot different to speaking it," Hoshi replied, with a shake of her head.

T'Pol merely raised an eyebrow, to which Hoshi huffed; "All right..."

She crossed to the first readout, and read aloud the Klingon text; "Ah... 'plasma containment', maybe?"

"You're certain?"

"Containment," Hoshi nodded, and then met T'Pol's questioning glance with a confident; "I'm certain."

She crossed to the next panel and was about to read the display, when a soft groan caught her attention. T'Pol must have heard it too, as she glanced across in the direction of Reed. He was, finally, regaining consciousness. Hoshi moved to go to him, but a gesture from T'Pol stopped her.

"Continue with your work, Ensign. I will assist Lieutenant Reed."

Reluctantly, Hoshi went back to the task at hand, peering at each glowing screen in an effort to find something, anything that might help them out of their predicament.

T'Pol crossed over to where Reed was trying, unsuccessfully, to shake off the cobwebs of unconsciousness. She knelt beside him, taking the scanner from her utility belt. Something aboard the ship was limiting the range of the scanner to only a few feet, but closer proximity allowed her to conduct a rudimentary medical scan. The readouts were confusing; T'Pol's medical knowledge with regard to humans was still very limited. She resolved to ask Dr Phlox for some texts that might assist her learning.

"Sub-commander?" Reed's voice was uncharacteristically weak and he sounded hoarse; T'Pol recalled his earlier reference to his 'damn cold', a phrase she understood to be the vernacular for a mild viral infection that humans were susceptible to.

"Lieutenant," she greeted him, "do you recall what happened?"

"Ah," Reed slowly gathered himself, pushing himself up into a seated position, raising one hand to his bruised face, "there was... a Klingon woman. She attacked me... I fought back... I'm not sure..."

"She overpowered you and stole the shuttlepod," T'Pol reported, matter-of-factly, registering the momentary look of shock on Reed's face, "we are stranded aboard this vessel. You were injured; you have fractured ribs and a moderate concussion. Are you capable of standing?"

"I... yes, I think so..." Reed winced, but hauled himself to his feet.

He steadied himself by leaning heavily against one of the consoles and for one moment, T'Pol thought he might lose consciousness again. However, he took a shallow breath, favouring his injured ribs, and straightened up. He wrapped his left hand protectively around his battered chest, and tried to focus on the situation at hand.

"What are you working on?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"We are attempting to access helm controls to return the vessel to a stable orbit," T'Pol answered, "Ensign?"

"Uh... this one... this one says something about 'photon torpedoes'..."

"Photon torpedoes?" Reed repeated, his professional interest piqued, despite his pain, "never heard of anything like that... what else?"

"Well, this all looks like weapons systems. Torpedoes, tactical sensors, disruptor arrays..."

Reed stumbled over and examined the tactical readouts closely, fascinated by the advanced alien weaponry.

"What about this one?" T'Pol interrupted, gesturing to a nearby console.

"I recognise pressure... and this, this could mean wall, or barrier..."

"Or hull?" T'Pol suggested.

"Maybe," Hoshi conceded.

Reed staggered over to them, and Hoshi obligingly stepped aside so he could view the display. He winced as he leaned forwards.

"If I'm reading this correctly, we've got a few hours at most," he told them, his voice little more than a whisper; he coughed, and then flinched, adding; "the hull integrity is failing."

T'Pol considered this even as she took a closer look at the lieutenant's bruised face; there was dried blood on his lip, and beneath the bruises he was very pale. In addition, despite the thin sheen of sweat on his face, she could see him shivering. Though as a Vulcan she found the warm temperature aboard the Klingon ship very comfortable, despite the smell, she knew it was extremely hot by human standards and to see Reed shivering was... unusual.

"Then we had better hurry," she decided, and gestured to the next console, "This appears to be the helm station."

"I think you're right," Hoshi agreed, quickly, pointing to the Klingon text and reading aloud; "Impulse drive."

"Good work, Hoshi," Reed told her, hoarsely.

He moved forward and gingerly lowered himself into the chair at the console. He tried not to sigh at the sheer relief at just being able to sit down, and quickly tapped a few keys on the console. It bleeped and he tried again, and then spread his hands in a gesture of despair; he tried again, and this time, an alert sounded, ominously.

"Hoshi?"

"It says the pressure's failing in the j'khat bah... fusion manifold. Do you know what that means?"

Reed nodded, grimaced, and raised his hand to his temple. His headache was only getting worse and he felt sick to his stomach. He wished he could lie down somewhere and sleep for a week, but instead he raised his yes to meet Hoshi's concerned gaze. He tried to keep his tone light, but he knew it was not good news.

"To quote our own Mr Tucker... it means we're dead in the water."


	4. Chapter 4

"Captain..." the Crewman sitting at Hoshi's station turned to him in confusion, "Sir, I'm picking up a transmission – it sounds like the emergency beacon from the shuttlepod..."

"I have the shuttlepod on sensors, sir," Travis Mayweather reported, from the helm, "it's leaving the atmosphere of the gas giant."

"On screen," Archer frowned as he watched the small shuttlepod glide past the _Enterprise_ as if it were heading towards deep space, "What are they doing? Crewman, hail them."

There was a long pause, followed by; "No response, Captain. All I'm getting is an automated message from the ship's computer requesting assistance."

Archer glanced up at the science station; "Life signs?"

"None aboard, sir," replied the Ensign in T'Pol's place, "I'm not reading any bio-signs at all."

Archer's heart skipped a beat, and he heard Trip take a deep breath behind him.

"Patch into the computer and shut it down," Archer ordered, "Travis, use the grappler to bring the shuttlepod onboard. Trip, you're with me."

The Captain and the Chief Engineer headed for the turbo-lift, a sense of urgency compelling them to move quickly.

"What do you suppose could've happened to them?" Trip mused, aloud, concern adding an edge to his voice, "No life signs aboard... Jon, you don't think they're..."

"I don't know, Trip," Archer cut him off, quickly, "If something has happened to them it's unlikely that they would have been in a position to launch the shuttlepod but if the emergency systems have kicked in it's not going to be good..."

Trip swallowed, nervously; the rest of their journey to the shuttle bay was spent in tense silence. Trip forced himself not to fidget as they waited for the bay to pressurise; as soon as it did so, the door opened automatically. The shuttle sat innocuously on the deck, the grappler having deposited it at an odd angle across-ways from the door. Archer and Trip were forced to walk around half of the shuttle to get to the door. Trip keyed in the manual override and the door hissed open.

Archer went first; he did not know whether to be shocked or relieved to find the shuttle was empty; he had been dreading stepping inside to find the bodies of three deceased officers.

"Where the hell are they?" Trip wondered, aloud, having followed the Captain inside.

"To quote our very own Science Officer," Archer raised the hint of a smile, "logic tells us that if they are not aboard the shuttle, they must still be aboard the Klingon vessel."

"Then why's the shuttle here? Was it cut loose somehow?"

"Or someone aboard that ship deliberately jettisoned in," Archer's tone was grim, "we need to find out."

"How are we gonna do that? We can't hail them, the EM interference is too strong."

"Then we'll just have to get closer," Archer decided, "we'll have to take the _Enterprise_ down."

* * *

 _"_ _Archer to Away Team, come in."_

Hoshi's heart skipped a beat in excitement as she snatched up her communicator, "We read you, captain!"

 _"_ _How're you holding up?"_

Hoshi cast a concerned glance at Reed, but he waved a dismissive gesture. He obviously felt his condition was of no concern, so she decided to keep things simple.

"We're fine, sir. It's nice to hear your voice."

 _"_ _What's your status?"_

"Our shuttle pod has been stolen – we believe one of the Klingons regained consciousness and used it to escape this vessel."

 _"_ _Negative,"_ Archer replied, a note of caution creeping into his voice, _"We recovered the shuttlepod adrift only a few minutes ago – we used the grappler to bring it aboard. It was empty."_

"Then we may have a conscious Klingon somewhere aboard the ship," T'Pol stated, as Hoshi gasped and Reed groaned aloud in pained dismay, "We've been attempting to restart the engines but they appear to be offline. Captain, I am transmitting all of the sensor data have gathered so far in relation to the Klingons and this vessel."

T'Pol tapped a few keys on her scanner, commencing the data upload.

 _"_ _We're receiving it now..."_

"We are going to attempt to carry out repairs to bring main power back online," T'Pol reported, "however, we do not have much time before hull pressure fails... Lieutenant Reed estimates that we have a few hours at most."

 _"_ _Don't worry about it. We're coming to get you."_

The three of them could only stand and listen as the _Enterprise_ Bridge crew attempted to get a lock on their position, but then, when Tucker reported that the probe was gone, followed my Mayweather's report that the hull pressure was at maximum, they all shared a look that confirmed what each of them already knew. The _Enterprise_ was not coming to rescue them.

 _"_ _I'm afraid we've got a little hitch in our rescue plan. We'll be back for you as soon as we can. In the meantime, just sit tight..."_

Interference washed over the com channel; Hoshi frowned, "Captain, you're breaking up... Captain?"

However, all she heard in response was the distinctive, cracking sound of the hull beginning to buckle under the mounting pressure.

* * *

"Did you get the data transmission?" Archer asked.

"Aye, sir," Crewman Chapman nodded, from the communications post, "there's a lot of it, sir, but most of it relates to the Klingons."

"Transmit it to Dr Phlox," Archer told him, "ask the doctor to analyse it and see what happened to the Klingons and whether there's anything that we can do to help. Anything else?"

"A few readings taken of the atmosphere and the layout of the ship. Nothing much, sir."

"Enter it into the database and mark it to the relevant department heads for analysis," Archer nodded, "Trip, we need a back-up plan; they may not be able to get those engines fired up and we need a way to get to them."

"Well, I could try outfitting one of the shuttlepods with duratanium supports," Trip suggested, with a slight shrug, "it won't look very pretty but it should do the job."

"Get to it," Archer nodded, "I want to get our people back safe and in one piece."

* * *

After Archer's last message, T'Pol decided that the best thing to do would be to carry on trying to repair the engines of the Klingon vessel – it was illogical to simply await rescue when they might countenance their own escape. Although there might be a Klingon somewhere on the loose, they could not waste time trying to track down the errant alien, though they had to remain on high alert while focussing on the repairs. As such, Reed found himself worming his way into one of the crawl spaces beneath the helm console. By the beam of his flashlight, he surveyed the damaged circuitry before him.

"The one time we need our chief engineer..." he wheezed, coughing, trying not to gasp from the pain in his damaged ribs, "is the one time we leave him behind..."

"Come look at this," Hoshi called to them, puzzlement in her tone.

It was the Klingon Captain's log, detailing what had happened to the ship and its crew. When the message had finished, Reed nodded, and cleared his throat, painfully.

"Sounds like we need to find the port fusion injector," he rasped, leaning heavily on the console beside him.

"Wait, I saw that somewhere..." Hoshi quickly called up the ship schematic, "here – one deck below us. It's in the Reactor Pit."

"Reactor Pit? Could that be Engineering?" Reed asked.

"Could be," Hoshi shrugged.

Reed went to pick up his equipment case, but T'Pol beat him to it. Surprised by her gesture, he nodded in thanks, and instead drew his phase pistol. He led the way, not waiting for any objection from the other two. Mindful of the earlier ambush, he was doubly careful when stepping through the doorways, but this time, no attack was forthcoming. There was only an unconscious Klingon on the floor. T'Pol stopped to scan him, as Reed continued towards the main console, lowering his phase pistol as he did so.

"This one?" he queried.

"No, that says something about plasma induction," Hoshi shook her head, and moving on.

She found another console, this one with a burly Klingon slumped over it; "Here it is. Port fusion injector."

Reed and T'Pol joined her, saw the Klingon, exchanged a look, and between them, they managed to lift the hulking alien off the console, lowering him gently to the floor. As he went to straighten up, Reed let out a pained gasp, doubling up as pain flared through the right hand side of his chest.

"Are you alright?" Hoshi turned in concern even as T'Pol moved the scanner towards him, but he waved them both off.

"I'm fine," he told them, through gritted teeth that belied his words.

T'Pol arched one eyebrow, but said nothing. Reed gingerly straightened up, one hand still protectively held over his cracked ribs, and crossed over to the console. He tapped a few keys, frowning at the readouts.

"If I'm reading this right, we've got a couple of burned-out relays and several system errors," he murmured, wiping a shaking hand over his face, "I... I think I can bypass these relays, but it's going to take a while... I'd best get on with it."

T'Pol and Hoshi could only watch as Reed gathered a few tools, and then set to work.

* * *

Bu'Kah snarled a curse and slammed her fists down on the console.

"Why won't this work?" she barked in frustration.

Her technical skills had come up short; she had no idea how to fix the port fusion injector. The reactor was intact but the injector system was offline so now power could run to the reactor intermix chamber to fire up the engines. She had a vague idea that the power needed to be rerouted somehow, but she did not know where to start and her efforts thus far had been in vain. She served the best fresh gagh this side of Qo'Nos but she could not make the injector system work.

"Garbage!" she snarled at the unrelenting error messages on the screen.

The Engineer lay uselessly slumped over the panel and she growled a curse at him. The computer had told her what she already knew; a neurotoxin had somehow been released into their atmosphere, likely in something that they had consumed. She wondered, briefly, how the aliens had done it – had they somehow infiltrated her kitchen and poisoned the blood wine? No matter now, they would die for their dishonour and she would hold her head high on the ship to Sto'vo'Kor.

There was a noise at the door, and Bu'Kah turned; the alien invaders were about to enter the Reactor Pit. Deciding to stage an ambush, she took refuge, crouched behind one of the consoles at the back of the room, her fingers gently brushing against the holster of her disruptor. Sure enough, the three aliens entered the room. She watched from the shadows, baring her teeth as she drew her weapon and prepared to launch her attack. However, something made her pause; the aliens had gathered around the port fusion control panel. Two of them – and Bu'Kah recognised the one she had fought earlier – removed the Engineer and placed him on the floor. Were they attempting to repair the ship so that they could steal it?

Bu'Kah's mind raced. The aliens appeared to be repairing the ship. Clearly, they intended to fix the engines and steal the ship. So – why not let them? Bu'Kah allowed a smile to spread across her face; a true warrior showed cunning as well as skill in battle. Why not let the aliens repair the ship before killing them? Then she could take back the ship and return to Klingon space to effect full repairs. And if the Captain were to succumb to the effects of the neurotoxin, the ship would be hers to crew and command. She would no longer need to spend her days slaughtering Targ or seasoning blood wine; she would be a warrior true, Bu'Kah of the _Somraw,_ bringing honour to her name and her house. She sunk back into the shadows, and waited to see if the aliens would repair the vessel sufficiently, even as she plotted their deaths.

* * *

Crouching beside the port fusion injector secondary back-up relay, Reed paused momentarily in his work to wipe the sweat from his brow. It was hard, hot work in the Reactor Pit and he was mindful of his aching head, sore ribs and bruised face. He was also feeling worse and worse as the minutes ticked by; he'd never before had a cold that had made him feel as weak and shaky as he did at that moment. He tried to check the readouts on the scanner but the screen blurred and shifted in front of his eyes. He reached into the relay to attach a calliper but the tool seemed to slide uselessly from fingers that were suddenly numb and unresponsive. He reached out for it, but it was as if all of his strength had suddenly failed him. He couldn't breathe under the console and he had to get out, standing up on shaking legs. He grabbed the edge of the console for support, wheezing, trying to catch a breath.

Sweating and shivering at the same time, he tried to stagger upright, but he felt like he was trapped in a suffocating bubble; he could not hear anything except the pounding of his heart, too loud and too fast, and he could not see anything but a haze of green. He reached out, blindly, for something, anything to stop himself from falling, and his right hand collided with a hot pipe. He yelped wordlessly as his palm hissed against super-heated metal and he snatched his hand away, gasping, head reeling.

"Are you okay?" the familiar voice was laced with concern, and Reed was vaguely aware of Hoshi standing beside him.

"Yes," he gasped out, "I... I seem to be getting... getting a little... light-headed..."

He trailed off, gasping for air but he still felt like he couldn't breathe. He tried to raise his hand but his limbs felt like lead. He was dimly aware of his knees buckling and the sensation of falling, but that was the last thing he knew before consciousness deserted him and he collapsed to the deck.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: I'd just like to thank you for reading this and I am so grateful to the people who have taken the time to leave such kind reviews. I really do appreciate it; it makes it all worth while._

* * *

Hoshi heard Reed's yelp of pain and turned around to see the armoury officer shaking his burnt fingers. Her work on the translations instantly forgotten, she rushed to his side, staring at him in concern. Something was clearly wrong; there was a flush of fever in his face, and his eyes looked glassy, unfocussed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, worriedly, touching his shoulder.

"Yes," his words were slurred, though, indistinct, a stark contrast to his usual clipped tones, "I... I seem to be getting... getting a little... light-headed..."

Hoshi saw the colour suddenly just leave his face as he went deathly-white; she tried to react but she wasn't fast enough. His legs gave way beneath him and he simply collapsed, crumpling face-down onto the deck plates.

"Malcolm!" decorum deserted her as she dropped to her knees beside the fallen officer, calling him by his first name, "Oh my God... Malcolm, can you hear me?"

Suddenly, T'Pol was there, the ever-present scanner in her hand, as she swept it over the prone lieutenant. Only the shallow movement of his ribs told Hoshi that he was still alive, though if she moved closer, she could hear the unnatural wheezing and rattling in his chest with each breath. He coughed, and groaned, already stirring.

"Sir?" Hoshi said, nervously; she had always thought of Malcolm Reed as being strong and reassuring; she had never seen him look as weak and frail as he did at that moment.

Reed raised a hand to his aching head and tried to sit up, but Hoshi was surprised when T'Pol reached out and placed her hand on the back of his shoulder, holding him down where he was. Hoshi knew that Vulcans generally avoided physical contact; for T'Pol to voluntarily place her hand on Reed's shoulder was a significant gesture.

"I do not recommend moving, lieutenant," T'Pol told him, firmly, "You are clearly sick and injured. You are severely dehydrated. You need some water."

"I saw a galley on the schematics," Hoshi offered, keen to assist, "Deck four, Blue Sector. I'll see what I can find."

T'Pol glanced down at Reed as Hoshi turned away; he nodded to her and gestured for her to follow the Communications Officer, clearly not wanting her to go alone but being in no condition to accompany her himself.

"You shouldn't go alone," T'Pol said, quickly, giving Reed a small nod.

"Watch yourselves," Reed told them, weakly, as he forced himself into a sitting position.

As the two of them left, he glanced down at his burned hand; the skin was a little singed but nothing serious. He flexed his fingers and tried shaking his head to clear it, but this just sent sparkles dancing across his vision and almost sent him crashing to the deck again. He groaned in sick despair as a pained shudder ran through him, but he could not just sit there helplessly while the others fetched water. Slowly, painfully, he hauled himself to his knees, and crawled back to the power relay to attempt to carry on with the repairs.

* * *

If anything, the galley smelled worse than the rest of the ship, and Hoshi gagged as she stepped through the door. Clapping her hand to her mouth, she glanced around the room, looking for a water supply. A bowl of red spaghetti on the table caught her eye and she picked it up, curiously.

"It's called 'gagh'," T'Pol informed her, "It's a Klingon delicacy... but only when they're alive."

In the light of the torch, Hoshi realised that it was not spaghetti – it was much thicker and had a meatier appearance.

"They look like worms..."

"They are worms."

Hoshi almost dropped the bowl in her haste to put it back down. She slowly walked around the tiny kitchen, looking for anything that might serve as tolerable hydration, when Hoshi spotted a cooking pot. It was filled with a dark, greenish liquid; it might provide them with both sustenance and hydration. She stirred it, slowly, trying to judge from the smell whether it was palatable. The spoon collided with something so she fished it out – an animal skull stared straight back at her with hollow, empty eye sockets. With a disgusted grunt, she dropped it, and turned away. Another noise caught their attention and T'Pol drew her phase pistol, but turned out to be some chained Targs, another Klingon delicacy. T'Po closed the door on them as Hoshi backed away, finding a convenient place to sit in an effort to gather her frayed and tattered nerves.

"Are you alright?" T'Pol asked her.

"I promised myself I wouldn't do this..."

Hoshi found herself floundering for a moment, confessing her envy of T'Pol's ability to bury her feelings, and for a moment she was embarrassed at showing further weakness in front of the stoic Vulcan. However, she was shocked when T'Pol offered to take her hand – the Vulcan's grip was warm and firm, yet soft. Her smooth voice soothed away the turbulence of anxiety, and when Hoshi opened her eyes again, she found herself much calmer, more focussed, and she blinked in surprise.

"That was amazing," she said, softly.

"When we return to the ship, I'll teach you how to do it on your own," T'Pol promised her.

"Thanks..."

T'Pol nodded once, clasping her hand momentarily, and then releasing her and getting to her feet; there was a mild jolt, but then the ship settled again. It was clear that they were still sinking.

"Come, we must find water," T'Pol said, decisively.

They resumed their search in silence, until T'Pol spoke again, "Ensign, I should like to ask you a question."

"Oh... okay," Hoshi nodded, warily, as she examined a few barrels; she'd hoped they contained water, but the text on the side said 'Blood Wine'... she hoped that wasn't a literal translation.

"I was led to believe that the human cold is a mild viral infection with minimal symptoms," T'Pol commented, "however, Lieutenant Reed's condition appears to be deteriorating rapidly. My last scans indicated that he is developing a high fever and he is exhibiting symptoms of acute respiratory distress. Is this common?"

Hoshi swallowed the knot in her throat; the same thought had been concerning her ever since Reed had apparently fainted, right in front of her, and he really was not the fainting type.

"No," she replied, at length, "no, it's not. Sometimes a cold virus weakens the immune system so that other pathogens can affect the patient, but I'm afraid I don't know much about it. His injuries may be making things worse, but I don't know. He seems to be getting sicker..."

"I concur," T'Pol said, gravely, "what is this?"

Hoshi glanced at the tank on the wall; "BiQ... water! That's it, that's water..."

They cast around and eventually found a large jug and a couple of tankards. T'Pol took the precaution of rinsing them out before filling the jug and scanning it.

"Elevated levels of chlorine and fluoride, but it is safe to drink," she confirmed.

Hoshi filled a tankard and took a cautious sip; "Ugh," she winced and the chemical taste, but it was certainly better than nothing and she desperately needed a drink. She picked up the jug and the tankards, nodding to T'Pol; "Great... let's get back to the Reactor Pit..."

* * *

Bu'Kah maintained her vigilant watch; the alien she had defeated in hand-to-hand combat appeared to be gravely injured. She suppressed a snort of derision as the other two left their wounded colleague behind, no doubt deeming him unworthy of further attention. She was mildly surprised, then, when the wounded alien got back up and apparently continued with his repair work.

Of course, in the retelling of this incident, the unknown aliens would be huge and muscular; great beasts with razor-sharp teeth and powerful horns – nobody sang songs about great warriors crushing puny little bugs like these soft creatures. The Vulcan would die quickly and this would be celebrated by her people, of course, but to cement her place in the hall of heroes at her ancestral home she needed a great victory. Jettisoning the bodies into the depths of the gas giant would be her first command when she took charge of the _Somraw_.

The alien eventually re-emerged from the relay systems and began typing commands into the console. A shiver ran through the _Somraw_ as the engines, finally, came back to life. The alien communicated briefly with his colleagues, apparently not having been abandoned as she'd first thought, and then he turned to go. Bu'Kah knew it was time to make her move. She drew her dagger and disruptor, and stepped out of the shadows.

* * *

Malcolm Reed was, by this point, really not feeling well. This was an understatement. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, and every time he coughed or sneezed it ripped pain through his cracked ribs. He wasn't sure if it was the concussion or his damned cold that thumped in his head and blurred his vision, but he could not fathom why he felt so weak and nauseous. However, he doggedly worked on, bypassing relays and repairing circuits with trembling fingers that barely felt like they belonged to him. The ship shifted and jolted several times, and the constant creaking and groaning of the hull reminded him of the ever-increasing pressure on the straining metal bulkheads. He cursed his physical weakness as he sneezed and nearly passed out at the pain in his head and his ribs. With a groan, he grabbed at the edge of the console and hauled himself over to it, peering blearily at the screen. He tapped a few keys, and was rewarded as a great shudder ran through the ship. His communicator bleeped.

 _"_ _T'Pol to Lieutenant Reed; report."_

With a shaking hand, he managed to unclip the communicator from his belt and flick it open. Leaning heavily on the console, he resisted the urge to close his eyes.

"I've... I've done it," he rasped out, his voice little more than a harsh croak, "I've fired up the port fusion reactor; main power is coming back online. We should have helm control... I'll... I'll meet you on the Bridge..."

 _"_ _Agreed,"_ there was a long pause, before T'Pol asked, carefully, _"Lieutenant, do you require assistance?"_

He hesitated; did he really sounds that bad over the com? He must have done for T'Pol to have asked him that, but he shook his head.

"No," he said aloud, into the communicator, "no, I'll be fine, I'll see you there. Reed out."

He closed the communicator and clipped it back onto his belt, scrubbing the back of a shaking hand across his eyes, wiping away sweat and grime as he steeled himself. He turned away from the console and staggered towards the door. However, a noise behind him made him hesitate. A heavy footstep reverberated on the deck plate. He turned, and there she was. The Klingon warrior loomed out of the shadows, a disruptor pistol in her right hand pointed straight at him, and a dagger in her left hand. Reed froze on the spot, only two or three paces from the door. His phase pistol was mere inches from his hand at his belt, but he knew that if he tried to draw it, she would gun him down where he stood.

"Hegh ghus!" she spat at him; without the Universal Translator or Hoshi, he had no idea what she was saying, but it was certainly not friendly.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, "I didn't quite catch that."

"PIHoH jIH!"

"Ah..." Reed took a step backwards, holding his hands up as she moved towards him.

"Wej vIH!"

In one fluid motion, he twisted down and to one side, and dived for the floor, drawing his phase pistol at the same time. It was a move he had practiced thousands of times as a cadet, the only way he knew to escape having a gun pointed straight at his chest, but it was risky, especially as he was feeling well below par. Predictably, she pulled the trigger; the discharge from the disruptor missed him by scant inches. He rolled and then, forcing his battered body to his feet, he scrambled for the door. With a maddened roar, the Klingon rushed at him but he slammed his hand onto the door override and it hissed shut in her face. He shot out the control panel with his phase pistol, effectively locking the door.

Reed collapsed back against the bulkhead of the corridor behind him, clutching his battered ribs, willing himself not to pass out. A coughing fit pitched him to his knees and he groaned, sucking in short, sharp gasps. Behind the door, the Klingon woman howled and roared curses, pounding on the metal with her fists. Not having time to deal with her further, he hauled himself up and stumbled up the corridor, back towards the Bridge. The Klingon would have to wait until later; first of all, he had to make sure the ship and his crewmates were safe.


	6. Chapter 6

T'Pol and Hoshi were just leaving the galley when a shudder ran through the ship and the whole vessel lurched to one side. A low pitched whine sounded, and the emergency lighting flickered on, though the hallways remained dark and shadowy. Hoshi stumbled and almost dropped the jug of water, but quickly righted herself, as T'Pol pulled out her communicator, flipping it open to activate the channel.

"T'Pol to Lieutenant Reed; report."

There was a long pause, and then, finally, a response.

 _"_ _I've... I've done it... I've fired up the port fusion reactor; main power is coming back online. We should have helm control... I'll... I'll meet you on the Bridge..."_

The Lieutenant's voice sounded weak and rough, a feeble parody of his normal diction. T'Pol glanced across at Hoshi; the Ensign was staring at her with a wide-eyed, concerned expression. Reed sounded awful, even over the static-laden com.

"Agreed," T'Pol said, calmly, and then she carefully added, "Lieutenant, do you require assistance?"

There was a long pause before the answer came; " _No... no, I'll be fine, I'll see you there. Reed out."_

T'Pol hesitated for a fraction of a second, and closed the communicator, gesturing silently for Hoshi to follow her. They made their way quickly but cautiously through the ship and back to the Bridge. Hoshi was surprised to find that Reed had arrived first, but then, the Reactor Pit had been only a deck below. He was sitting at the helm control, half-hunched in the chair, his hands balanced on the controls as he began to activate the engines. He glanced up at their arrival, his hand twitching towards his phase pistol but then faltering as recognition set in. The dark bruises on his cheek, jaw and temple were a stark contrast to the distinct pallor of his face.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol greeted him, "what is our status?"

"The... the port fusion reactor is back online but I don't know how long it will last," he told them, turning back to the controls, "I also found our Klingon friend – she's currently locked in the Reactor Pit."

Hoshi privately wondered how long Reed was going to last, let alone the port fusion reactor; he looked terrible. Reed tapped a few more buttons and a powerful hum ran through the ship as the engines fired up; the hull creaked and groaned as Reed began to pull the ship up into a higher orbit, easing the pressure on the battered hull. Hoshi noticed the trembling in his hands and the pained grimace on his face, and glanced at T'Pol.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol's cool voice cut through his concentration, causing Reed to look up at her, "allow me to take the controls. You need to rest."

He hesitated, opening his mouth as if to argue, but, at her raised eyebrow, he acquiesced, levering himself out of the chair with obvious difficulty. Hoshi guided him to sit in the next nearest chair as T'Pol took over the helm controls. Grasping the jug of water, she tipped some hastily into a tankard and, crouching in front of him, she pressed it into his hands.

"Here," she whispered, gently, "drink this, it might help."

He nodded, and sipped gratefully at the warm, brackish water, only grimacing slightly at the bitter taste. Hoshi filled a second tankard and sat on the floor while she drank too, her relief palpable as the Klingon ship began to rise out of the crushing embrace of the gas giant. A whistling noise alerted her from a nearby panel and she stood up, crossing to it quickly. As she read the blockish Klingon script, her heart soared with excitement.

"We're being hailed!" she announced, delightedly, "It's the _Enterprise!"_

"On screen," T'Pol ordered, not taking her eyes off the helm controls as she continued to steer the ship out of danger.

An image flashed and flickered onto the screen, interlaced with static, but it was a clear view of the bright, pristine Bridge of the _Enterprise,_ a sharp contrast to the dark and gloomy Klingon ship. Captain Archer was seated in his chair, a frown of concern etched on his features.

 _"_ _This is the_ Enterprise _hailing unknown Klingon vessel, please respond... Repeat, this is Captain Archer, hailing unknown Klingon vessel, please respond."_

"Captain!" Hoshi could not keep the joy out of her voice, " _Enterprise,_ this is the Away Team, can you hear us?"

 _"_ _Hoshi?"_

"Yes, Captain!"

 _"_ _Thank God... are you alright?"_

"We are fine, Captain," T'Pol cut in, quickly, "we have brought main power back online temporarily, but key systems are still failing. We are at significant risk of a cascade failure which could breach the Reactor Core... we must depart as soon as possible."

 _"_ _If you can gain another four thousand metres we can send a shuttle to collect you," Archer told them, "the Klingon vessel is too big for Enterprise to tow clear with the grappler and you're still beyond our maximum hull pressure."_

"Captain, what about the Klingons?" Hoshi asked, worriedly, still reluctant to leave them to die.

 _"_ _Phlox has synthesised an antitoxin based on the scans you transmitted earlier – we'll bring it over with the shuttle and hopefully there will be time to treat the crew. Trip's been outfitting a shuttlepod with some hull reinforcements to buy us some extra time if your orbit does begin to decay again... Three thousand meters, you're almost here..."_

Somewhere behind Hoshi a console exploded and she let out a cry of surprise, jumping forwards. Reed and T'Pol were both bowed over their consoles, working furiously to keep the ship rising.

"Pressure's rising in the port fusion injector again – we're risking an overload," Reed called out, his voice rasping as he tried to make himself heard.

"Two thousand meters," T'Pol reported.

 _"_ _You're almost within range!"_ Archer urged them on.

Another system overloaded, sending sparks flying from a relay overhead, showering the Bridge. Hoshi yelped and ducked, turning away.

"Pressure is approaching critical!"

"One thousand meters..."

 _"_ _We're launching the shuttle to rendezvous with you... Trip's on his way now."_

The ship began to whine and shudder ominously, and Hoshi's elation disappeared as fear once again began to mount. She crossed over to read the displays between Reed and T'Pol; systems were beginning to fail all over the ship and she did not know which one to report first. A sound behind her cut through the noise and the chaos; the distinct hiss of a door opening. Hoshi swung around and let out a wordless cry of alarm; there, framed in the doorway, was a Klingon woman, with a disruptor pointed straight at Hoshi.

* * *

As soon as the Klingon woman appeared, Hoshi cried out, and everything seemed to happen at once. Both T'Pol and Reed reacted, turning in their chairs; the Klingon woman snarled a curse and stepped forward, raising her disruptor. Hoshi stood, dumbstruck, staring at the Klingon and her weapon.

"Hoshi! Move!"

The Ensign barely heard Reed's hoarse shout. As the Klingon woman pulled the trigger, T'Pol stood, drawing and firing her phase pistol at the same time. In the same moment, Reed launched himself out of his chair, diving in front of Hoshi and knocking her to one side as he did so. She fell, colliding with one of the instrument panels and tumbling to the floor; distantly, she heard the thud as Reed landed hard on the deck in front of her and the high-pitched, waspish whine of the phase pistol being discharged again. This time there was an enraged below and the distinct thump of an unconscious Klingon hitting the deck.

 _"_ _Away team! Report!"_ Archer was shouting, from the view screen.

Hoshi sucked in a shocked breath, and raised herself up on trembling arms, mentally assessing herself, amazed to find that she had not been injured. The ship, however, was in dire straits; two more power relays blew, showering them in sparks.

"The port fusion reactor has overloaded!" T'Pol called out, "Captain, our engines are offline. Systems are failing..."

 _"_ _Trip... Shuttle...Minutes..."_

The communications system sputtered and died in a shower of sparks as the whole ship bucked and juddered and then main power failed completely. Pushing herself to her knees, she could vaguely hear T'Pol trying to summon the _Enterprise_ on her hand-held communicator, apparently to no avail. Hoshi crawled the short space between her and Malcolm Reed. He was lying on his side with his back to her, completely unmoving. She reached out and grasped his shoulder, pulling him over onto his back.

"No!" Hoshi let out a pained gasp as her hands flew to her mouth in horror.

The single shot the Klingon woman had fired had found its mark. A deep, ugly wound scorched the Lieutenant's right shoulder; he had just managed to put himself between Hoshi and the disruptor when the trigger had been pulled.

"Sub-commander!" Hoshi's voice choked on a sob as the Vulcan abandoned the now-useless helm console and knelt beside Reed, opposite to Hoshi.

T'Pol pulled out her scanner, casting it over Reed, her face an impassive mask as she studied the readings.

"His vital signs are dropping," she summarised, not having time to catalogue the indications that Reed was in a very dire state, "he's losing too much blood – apply pressure to the wound, here."

"Oh, God," Hoshi shuddered and squeezed her eyes closed, "I... I can't... no..."

"Ensign, you must, unless you wish for Lieutenant Reed to bleed to death?"

"Oh, God," Hoshi murmured again.

T'Pol reached for one of the EV suits and, with great strength, tore out a part of the lining fabric. She balled this up and placed it against the wound on Reed's shoulder, and motioned to Hoshi.

"Apply pressure here," the Vulcan ordered.

"Okay, okay," Hoshi took a deep breath, and did as she was told.

The scent of charred flesh assailed her as warm blood immediately seeped into the makeshift dressing, and Hoshi gave a moan of distress; "I don't think this is helping...!"

"Maintain pressure on the wound," T'Pol repeated, "I believe the Captain's last message indicated that a shuttlepod is due to arrive shortly."

Hoshi tried to keep pressure on the wound, feeling tears prick at her eyes. If she had moved at the Lieutenant's order, he would not have had to come between her and the Klingon woman and he would not have suffered this hideous injury. She stifled a sob and adjusted her grip on the blood-soaked cloth, pressing down as hard as she dared. Beneath her hands, Reed suddenly shifted, and groaned.

Hoshi gasped; "Sir? Oh God – I think he's waking up..."

Reed coughed, weakly, and Hoshi was horrified to see small flecks of blood appear on his lips. T'Pol's scanner beeped a warning signal and Hoshi glanced from Reed to her, aghast.

"What was that? What's wrong with him? What's going on?"

"This is not a medical scanner, Ensign," T'Pol reminded her, "however, I am detecting increasing levels of the same neurotoxin in Lieutenant Reed's bloodstream as that which is affecting the Klingons."

"But I thought you said it had dissipated below harmful levels?"

"It has," T'Pol replied, not meeting her gaze as she glanced from her scanner to Reed's pale, drawn complexion as he stirred and coughed again, "but it seems the virus Lieutenant Reed contracted has weakened his immune system and interacted with the trace levels of neurotoxin remaining in the atmosphere; the toxin is rapidly amplifying the effects of the virus."

"What does that mean?" Hoshi asked, desperately, tears now running unchecked down her face.

"His central nervous system is being affected and he is in the early stages of multiple organ failure," T'Pol told her, bluntly, "he needs urgent medical assistance - if we do not get him back to the _Enterprise_ soon, he will die."


	7. Chapter 7

An eternity seemed to pass, but in reality it was only a few minutes; T'Pol checked the fallen Klingon woman and found that she, too, was succumbing to the neurotoxin and, like the others, was unlikely to regain consciousness without medical aid. Hoshi sat beside Reed, her hands pressed against the hideous bloody wound to his shoulder, murmuring what little comfort she could to the injured officer. He remained only semi-conscious, lost in a feverish state of pain and confusion. Hoshi felt like guilt was going to tear her in half and there was nothing she could do to help him other than maintain pressure on the wound and keep up a litany of reassurance.

"You're going to be fine," she murmured, not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself, "you're going to be okay..."

She was interrupted by the Bridge door opening and she gasped, turning towards the doorway, raising her blood-stained hands in a defensive gesture. T'Pol whipped out her phase pistol, levelling it unwaveringly at the door. However, a familiar, blue-uniformed figure stepped through, carrying a small case in one hand and a phase pistol in the other.

"Jeeze, T'Pol, y'almost gave me a heart attack," Trip drawled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Commander! Oh thank God..." Hoshi closed her eyes in relief, but they snapped back open at a feeble, wet cough from Reed.

"Good God," Trip crossed the Bridge in three quick strides as T'Pol holstered her weapon, "Malcolm! What the hell happened?"

"He... he was shot..." a sob choked off Hoshi's words, and she felt Trip's strong hand reassuringly squeeze her shoulder.

He released her and held the small case he carried out towards T'Pol.

"Nine hypo-sprays," he told her, quickly, "one for each Klingon. Be quick; Phlox reckons it'll bring them back to consciousness within ten minutes. We gotta get out of here before they wake up."

"I will see to it," T'Pol promised, "you and Ensign Sato should get Lieutenant Reed to the shuttlepod immediately. He has been wounded by a disruptor blast and he is suffering from the effects of the neurotoxin in the atmosphere. His organs are failing and he has lost a lot of blood. Will this antidote be effective on humans?"

"Ah," Trip paled slightly as he took in the dire news, "I dunno about that – Phlox said it would be effective on the Klingons, and he only gave me nine doses... we'd best get Malcolm back to the doc ASAP."

T'Pol gave a slight nod, and set about treating the Klingon crew. Trip looked down at Reed; blood flecked bright red on his blue lips and his face was almost chalk-white. Every shallow breath he drew wheezed and rattled in his chest and the wound to his right shoulder still oozed blood, burnt black at the edges. Trip hesitantly placed his palm on Reed's forehead and inwardly winced.

"He's burnin' up..."

"Please," Hoshi whispered, almost sounding like she was begging, "please tell me you brought a medical kit..."

"Didn't think I needed one," Trip admitted, "there'll be emergency supplies back in the shuttle, we just gotta get him there..."

Reed drew in a shallow, shaky breath; "Help... help me up," he rasped out, "I... I can walk..."

Trip blew out a huff of air; "I ain't sure I believe you, Lieutenant – I kinda think you might be better off if you just pass out an' let me carry you."

Reed made a choking noise and for one moment Hoshi's heart froze, but then she realised it was a strangled, hoarse laugh and she sighed with relief.

"I... I'm ready..."

"You sure you wanna do this?" Trip's voice was soft and gentle as his blue eyes met Reed's grey gaze, noting the hurt in his expression.

Reed managed a slight, pained nod, not trusting himself to speak. Trip returned the nod, and got to his feet. He held out his hands and Reed weakly raised his left arm; it trembled with the exertion. Trip took the proffered hand in both of his, clasping the shaking hand firmly. He took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded.

"One... two... three!"

On three, Trip hauled Reed upright, and the Armoury Officer let out an agonised cry as he did so. His knees buckled and he would have fallen had Trip not caught him and held him upright.

"Easy, Malcolm, easy, come on, lean on me..."

The Engineer managed to get Reed's left arm around his neck and, holding Reed's left wrist in his left hand, Trip wrapped his right arm around Reed's waist, holding him upright and supporting most of his weight. Reed's right arm now hung, uselessly, by his side. Blood from the shoulder wound trickled, unchecked, down his arm, and dripped from his finger tips.

"Come on, Lieutenant, stay with me here," Trip urged him, "this way – it's not far to the shuttlepod."

They set off, the three of them together, Hoshi bringing up the rear as Trip half-dragged, half-carried Reed alongside him. The lighting in the hallway flickered and waned as the power systems went into cascade failure. Hoshi hoped the Klingons would know how to repair and salvage their ship. For all they had been through, she did not want the Klingons to die.

"We're almost there, Malcolm, not far now..."

Reed only groaned wordlessly in response; every step he tried to take was agony, every breath burned in his throat and tightened his chest; he could neither inhale nor exhale properly, it was like drowning on dry land. Trip's grip on his wrist was sure and the arm around his waist was strong. In truth, it was only the Engineer holding him up that kept him from crumpling to the deck. The ship creaked and heaved, shuddering as if to shake itself apart. It was sinking, once more, into the depths of the gas giant. Reed tried to take a step and stumbled; this coincided with a sudden jolt from the ship, which sent all three of them crashing into the bulkhead. Trip grabbed Reed, but the Lieutenant's strength was almost gone.

"Leave me here," he ground out, roughly, "I'm... slowing you down... Get out... leave me."

"No chance in hell," Trip replied, firmly.

He adjusted his grip and they trudged on. It felt like it took hours to reach the shuttle hatch, but they did, finally, reach the airlock. Hoshi cycled it open and the brightness of the shuttlepod was almost blinding compared to the dingy Klingon vessel. Dazzled, she closed her eyes momentarily, but then hastily moved aside to let Trip and Reed through. T'Pol had apparently completed her task and had beaten them to the shuttle; she turned in the pilot's chair and raised an eyebrow at them.

"I was beginning to think that you weren't coming."

"Well," Trip carefully lowered Reed onto the bench seat at the back, guiding him to lie down on his back, "we're here now. Let's get out of here, the Klingons will be waking up soon."

Hoshi dropped gratefully into a chair to T'Pol's right, as the Vulcan activated the controls. Hoshi closed her eyes; she could quite happily have fallen asleep right there and then as the adrenaline and stress from the last few hours melted away in the shuttle's cool, bright cockpit. Under T'Pol's steady guidance, the shuttlepod detached from the Klingon vessel, and they were free.

"Better hurry, T'Pol," Trip's voice was grim, "Malcolm's not doing so good back here."

"Acknowledged, Commander..."

Snapping her eyes open, Hoshi turned in her chair, seeing Trip bending over Reed, a medical scanner in hand. The Engineer reached into the medical supply case and withdrew a hypospray.

"Malcolm... this should help with the pain..."

He delivered the injection straight into Reed's neck; the effect was virtually instantaneous as the wounded Lieutenant immediately relaxed; the tension melting out of him as his head rolled loosely to one side and his left arm slipped to hang limply over the edge of the bench.

"Lieutenant?" Trip frowned, "Malcolm, can y'hear me? Aw, hell... Step on it, T'Pol, we gotta get back to _Enterprise_ or he ain't gonna make it!"

* * *

Even with the hull reinforcements, the shuttlepod creaked and groaned under the atmospheric pressure of the gas giant. T'Pol focussed on the controls as Hoshi sat numbly in her chair, her hands folded in her lap to stop them from shaking. Behind her, Trip remained at Reed's side as the Lieutenant clung to life with weak, rasping breaths. Hoshi kept her eyes glued to the view screen and then, at last, the familiar silhouette of the _Enterprise_ loomed above them in the orange mist. On cue, the com system bleeped at them.

 _"_ _Enterprise to Shuttlepod Two, do you read me?"_

"Captain," T'Pol flicked open the communications channel, "this is Shuttlepod Two, requesting permission to dock."

 _"_ _Permission granted,_ " Archer replied, and Hoshi could almost hear the smile in his voice, _"welcome back."_

"Sir," T'Pol responded, "please have Dr. Phlox meet us in the shuttlebay as a matter of urgency."

 _"_ _Is there a problem, T'Pol?"_

"Lieutenant Reed is wounded; he has suffered a disruptor injury to his shoulder."

 _"_ _Malcolm's hurt? How bad?"_

"It's bad, Jon," Trip cut in, quickly, "he's losin' a lot of blood an' he's in shock – medical scanner's goin' crazy, I can't make head nor tail of these readin's, but he's in a bad way."

 _"_ _Phlox is on his way to the shuttlebay – the rest of you will report to the de-con chamber on arrival."_

"Understood, Captain," T'Pol acknowledged, "Shuttlepod two out."

The shuttlepod slipped smoothly into the shuttlebay and T'Pol guided it into land, as the bay door closed behind them. Hoshi heard the hiss of air flooding into the bay as it pressurised, and the shuttle's systems powered down. Hoshi dropped her head into her hands as relief flooded through her. They were home.

T'Pol rose from her seat and keyed open the shuttle hatch; as she did so, the main doors opened and Captain Archer appeared, closely followed by Dr Phlox, who was dragging an anti-grav gurney behind him.

"T'Pol! Are you okay?"

"I am well, Captain – I am ready to make my report should you require it."

"No, not right now," Archer shook his head, "I want you, Trip and Hoshi to report to decontamination immediately, I'll have a written report once you've rested."

"Aye, captain," T'Pol stepped out of the shuttle, with Hoshi close behind, "Lieutenant Reed will require immediate assistance."

"That's why I'm here," Phlox stepped forward, his normally jocular expression grim, "where is the Lieutenant?"

"With Commander Tucker, in the back of the shuttle," T'Pol stepped aside, allowing the doctor access.

"Captain...?" Hoshi said, hesitantly.

"Report to de-con, Hoshi – we'll keep you informed," Archer promised.

The Captain watched as T'Pol and Hoshi obediently left the bay, before he turned and stepped into the shuttlepod. There was an odd, earthy yet metallic smell lingering in the air; Archer wondered if it was from the atmosphere of the Klingon ship.

"Jon! Doc! Thank God..." Trip was kneeling on the floor, but he got to his feet at the sight of the captain and the doctor, "Doc, Malcolm's hurt real bad over here..."

"Let me see," Phlox pushed forwards, clutching his medical kit, having left the gurney outside the shuttle.

"Good God," Archer's throat tightened in sympathy when he caught sight of Malcolm Reed.

The Lieutenant was sprawled on the bench, barely conscious, writhing feebly under Trip's firm grip; there was blood on the Engineer's hands from where he held a sterile pad pressed against Reed's right shoulder.

"Let me see," Phlox said, quickly.

Trip nodded, and peeled the bloody dressing away. Archer winced and recoiled slightly, appalled. Reed's right shoulder was a burned, bloody, mangled mess. He looked somehow smaller than usual in his silver EV jumpsuit, and Archer noted extensive bruising to his face, which did nothing to hide the chalky-whiteness of his features. There was dried blood around his blue-tinged lips and Archer could distinctly hear the wet, sucking wheeze that accompanied every strained breath the Armoury Officer fought to draw. Phlox passed a medical scanner over the Lieutenant and it emitted a low, shrill whistle.

"I need to get him to sickbay immediately," Phlox's serious tone brooked no argument, "Captain, the gurney, if you wouldn't mind?"

Archer obliged, dragging the floating stretcher into the tight confines of the shuttle.

"We don't have much time; he needs urgent surgery," Phlox spoke as he worked, attaching a small monitor to Reed's chest, "get him on the gurney, quickly!"

"What's wrong?" Archer asked, as he helped Trip lift the prone Lieutenant onto the gurney, "This isn't just a disruptor wound..."

"I don't have time for a full report, Captain!" Phlox's uncharacteristic sharp tone told Archer just how bad things were, "Sickbay – now!"

That was all Archer and Trip needed to hear; between them, they pushed the gurney off the shuttle, and as soon as his boots hit the deck, Archer began to run ahead, Trip pushing the gurney behind him at full sprint, Phlox running a few paces behind. Archer bellowed an order to clear the halls if anyone stood in their way as they charged into sickbay; Phlox immediately took the gurney from Trip, grabbing an oxygen mask and clamping it over Reed's face.

"Hold this here," Phlox told Archer, who immediately obeyed; he had no qualms taking orders from the doctor where the life of one of his crewmembers was on the line, "Commander Tucker, you need to report to decontamination immediately."

"But, Malcolm..."

"Now, Commander! I am about to perform surgery and if you are carrying any alien pathogens from your time aboard the Klingon vessel I cannot have you nearby!"

"Trip, go, I'll keep you informed," Archer promised.

The Engineer hesitated a moment longer and then gave in, nodding reluctantly, and headed for the decontamination chamber. Phlox injected something into Reed's neck, passing the scanner over him once more and scowling at the readouts.

"Doctor...?" Archer queried.

"Aside from several minor injuries and the disruptor burn, I'm detecting a pathogen in his bloodstream that defies analysis," Phlox reported, quickly, as he dialled up the oxygen supply, "it's shutting down most of his vital organs... he has a severe concussion and several broken ribs, one of which has punctured a lung."

"What the hell happened to him?"

"You'd have to ask the other members of the away team," Phlox bustled the captain aside hastily, removing the oxygen mask and inserting a direct breathing tube instead, "all I can say is that he's in a critical condition."

"Is he going to be alright?" Archer asked, hating how his voice wavered slightly as he asked the question.

"You'll have to leave too, Captain," Phlox said, already cutting away the scorched fabric around Reed's wounded shoulder, "this is going to take some time."

"Phlox! Is he going to be alright?"

The doctor hesitated, only momentarily, and Archer caught the flash of uncertainty on his face.

"I'll call as soon as I have news, Captain."

With that, Phlox gently pushed him out of the way, and drew the privacy curtain around the bed.


	8. Chapter 8

In the cool blue lighting of the decontamination chamber, T'Pol and Hoshi sat side-by-side on the bench, each silent and lost in their own thoughts. When the door opened, both of them turned in surprise, as Trip Tucker entered, in his blue briefs.

"I wasn't on that damn ship for more than twenty minutes," he groused, reaching for the sterilising gel, "still gotta go through this though..."

Hoshi stood and helped the commander to apply the gel to his back; "After being on that ship, it feels good to be clean again... how's Lieutenant Reed?"

The slight hitch in Hoshi's voice betrayed her deep concern, and Trip heaved a sigh, sitting down on the other side of the bench.

"I don't know," he confessed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and turning to look at Hoshi as she sat between him and T'Pol, "Phlox threw me out of sickbay. Said somethin' about surgery but... Malcolm... he didn't look good. What the hell happened over there, anyway?"

Hoshi glanced at T'Pol but the austere Vulcan had her eyes closed, and seemed to be meditating. She sighed, and glanced down at the floor.

"I don't really know where to start," she admitted, with a shrug, staring at the deck plates, "I don't think he was feeling well to begin with, he did say something about having a cold..."

"Yeah, he looked a bit rough when I saw him in the armoury this morning," Trip nodded, "I made him go see Phlox before going on the away mission..."

"This morning?" Hoshi blinked in surprised; had it really only been a few short hours? It felt like weeks since she had last felt clean and safe aboard the _Enterprise._

Trip was about to reply, when the com channel chirruped at them. Being the nearest, Trip stood and switched it on.

"Tucker here," he said.

 _"_ _Trip,"_ Archer's voice sounded taut, even over the com, _"how are you doing in there?"_

"We're all good, Jon," Trip replied, dispensing with formalities, "how's Malcolm doin'?"

There was a long pause, no doubt as Archer tried to decide what to say.

 _"_ _Phlox is taking him into surgery now,"_ the Captain eventually told them, _"it didn't look good... T'Pol, Hoshi, would one of you care to tell me what happened over there? Specifically, what happened to Malcolm?"_

Hoshi glanced across at T'Pol again; this time the Vulcan opened her eyes and spared the Communications Officer a small nod. The Sub-Commander rose gracefully to her feet and crossed to the wall panel.

"Captain," she began, in her customary measure tone, "Lieutenant Reed initially suffered minor injuries attempting to prevent the loss of the shuttlepod; I believe he was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a Klingon, he was extremely fortunate to have survived as Klingons normally kill their opponents as a matter of honour. We were under the impression that the Klingon had stolen the shuttle until you advised us otherwise. It later became apparent that the Lieutenant was suffering an adverse reaction to the trace levels of neurotoxin remaining in the atmosphere as a result of a pre-existing viral infection..."

 _"_ _Viral infection?"_ Archer interrupted, " _What viral infection?"_

"He had a bit of a cold, Jon," Trip interjected, "it was nothin' – Phlox cleared him for the mission."

"The neurotoxin may have mutated the virus," T'Pol hypothesised, "Dr. Phlox may be able to advise further. In any event, Lieutenant Reed suffered further injury when one of the Klingons attacked us on the Bridge prior to our escape. He sustained a disruptor wound to his right shoulder during the attack."

"That was because of me," Hoshi admitted, ashamedly, "he was defending me; sir, he deliberately jumped in front of me. He saved my life. Captain – is he going to be okay?"

There was a moment of silence.

 _"_ _I'm sorry, Hoshi, I don't know,"_ came the eventual, reluctant reply, _"Dr Phlox has promised to keep me informed. For now I've ordered helm to remain in orbit around the gas giant to monitor the Klingon vessel; they seem to be holding a stable low orbit but I want to make sure they don't require further assistance. I'll have someone notify you when the decontamination procedure is complete... just call if you need anything. Archer out."_

Hoshi took a deep breath; "Sub-Commander?"

"Yes, Ensign?"

"I could really do with that mind-calming trick right about now..."

* * *

Several hours later, Archer sat in his ready room, frowning at his screen. He had two reports before him and both said pretty much the same thing, albeit in totally different styles. T'Pol's report was written with sharp precision, concise and to the point, written in short, matter-of-fact sentences, though it was clear that she had been against assisting the Klingon's from the start and her implication was clear – if Reed succumbed to his injuries, his death would be the result of Archer's insistence at trying to help a species who did not want or appreciate any outside assistance. Hoshi's was gentler, lacking the accusatory undertone, yet more emotive; longer, descriptive prose, less formal. Where T'Pol stuck to cold hard facts and analysis, Hoshi's recorded more of her impression of the Klingon ship and the sensations of being there, from the translations she had made to the food she had witnessed in the galley – Archer made a mental note never to have dinner with a Klingon. Hoshi's obvious desire to assist the Klingons despite everything that had happened was a stark contrast to T'Pol's report and salved Archer's conscience... albeit only a little.

However, both reports were consistent in their recounting of the events aboard the wrecked vessel. What stood out to him the most, however, was that T'Pol's report contained something that Hoshi's could not – the stoic Vulcan had, at the end, praised both Hoshi and Malcolm, recommending them for commendations. He endorsed Hoshi's commendation without hesitation, but Malcolm's... he set the pad aside and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He could not endorse a commendation until he knew whether or not it would be posthumous.

The thought sickened him, but he could not get the image of the wounded Armoury Officer out of his head. It had been nearly eight hours since Phlox had kicked him out of sickbay and he'd heard nothing. Trip had gone back to work, while he'd sent T'Pol and Hoshi to their quarters to rest. The Klingon ship remained in a fixed low orbit on the edge of Enterprise's sensor range; so far their attempts to hail the vessel had been met with stony silence.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Archer's fingers twitched towards the communications channel to hail sickbay, and he stopped himself, reminding himself sharply that it would do no good to contact Phlox before he was ready to deliver his report. So, when the intercom suddenly whistled at him, he nearly fell out of his chair in shock.

"Phlox to Captain Archer; please report to Sickbay immediately."

"On my way!" Archer slapped his palm onto the control and was out of his chair by the time he'd switched it back off again.

The Captain strode across the Bridge, ignoring the worried gazes of the crew at their stations as he entered the turbolift. News spread fast around the ship; he forced himself to walk quickly and purposefully rather than sprinting through the corridors, paying no heed to the questioning glances he got, but none of the crew dared actually stop and question him. Archer arrived to find that Trip was there; the Engineer seemingly did not have the same qualms about decorum as the Captain; he had obviously sprinted there from Engineering because he was still catching his breath.

"Jon," Trip greeted him, with a worried nod.

"Trip," Archer returned the greeting, "any news?"

Trip silently shook his head, directing his gaze to the curtained-off bed at the other end of the room. Archer swallowed hard; Sickbay felt ominously quiet, even Phlox's menagerie of creatures seemed oddly subdued. Then, the curtain twitched, and the doctor appeared, closing the curtain behind him. He peeled off a pair of blood-stained gloves, and deposited them in the bin, and Archer felt a tight knot form in his throat. Trip must have shared his sense of trepidation as the Engineer fidgeted nervously beside him; it had not escaped Archer's notice that Trip had been slowly building a friendship with Malcolm Reed since leaving space dock five months previously, and his concern for Reed was obvious.

"Doc?" Archer prompted, trying to keep his voice level with only limited success, "Well?"

"Lieutenant Reed survived the surgery," Phlox told them, but his tone remained subdued, "however, he's not out of danger yet; I've re-inflated his lung and inserted a drain to keep the fluids from building back up and I've repaired the damage to his shoulder but it will require extensive rehabilitation. I am treating him with antitoxin to combat the effects of the mutated virus but he has developed a secondary infection and pneumonia, which is adding a lot of stress to his damaged lung; I'll be keeping him on oxygen for the next few days and I'll need to monitor him closely."

"Can we see him?" Trip asked, after absorbing all of this information.

"Commander, he's very weak," the doctor emphasised, "I had to resuscitate him three times during the surgery. The third time, I... I was convinced I'd lost him."

"Thank you, doctor," Archer said, softly, "we're grateful... we'd just like to see him, just for a moment."

"Very well," Phlox acquiesced, reluctantly, "but he needs to rest; he has yet to regain consciousness. Please be brief, and if he wakes up, do not tax him unnecessarily."

Archer nodded in understanding, and the two of them approached the curtained-off bed. Archer stepped through first, with Trip crowding at his heels. He surveyed the unconscious figure on the bed before him and grimaced.

"Aw, hell, Malcolm," Trip groaned.

A thin sheet was drawn up to the Armoury Officer's waist; clean, white bandages encapsulated his shoulder, and a tube snaked into his right side, draining the fluids that threatened to collapse his lung. An oxygen mask was fitted over his nose and mouth, obscuring most of his face. His arms, face and chest were mottled with deep, purple bruises, and Archer realised that this was what it looked like to go hand-to-hand, unarmed, with a Klingon warrior. Archer reached out and touched Reed's unresponsive wrist; he was expecting him to be cold to the touch but his skin felt hot and paper-dry; he was still burning up with fever.

"I've done all I can," Phlox told them, making Archer jump slightly; he had not even heard the curtain move to admit the doctor; "the rest is up to time, and Lieutenant Reed."

* * *

The return to consciousness can be slow, painful, and confusing. The first thing that Reed became aware of was sound; low voices, murmuring hushed conversations; the soft beeping of machinery; the whirring hiss of an air pump; the rustle and chirping of small animals from Phlox's collection of pets; all these sounds told him he was in the infirmary, as he drifted in and out on the edge of consciousness. Smell was the second sense to return; the anti-septic odour of sickbay was a pungent reminder of his debilitated condition. Then touch; physical sensations, like the dull ache in his chest and shoulder that told him he was probably heavily medicated against the pain. He could feel the light blanket resting against his chest and the occasional brush of a hand against his when some visitor stopped by; sometimes Phlox was there, checking readings or adjusting equipment; once or twice he felt the cooling press of a damp cloth against his face, head and chest when his fever peaked. There was pain when a tube in his side was removed but a hypospray to his neck snatched it away as quickly as it had come, and he drifted again, on the cusp of wakefulness, for what felt like an eternity. Then, finally, after aeons seemed to have passed, he was finally able to force his eyes open, heralding the return of sight.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open; the lights in sickbay were dimmed, and for a long moment, he simply lay there, trying to gather his thoughts. The last thing he remembered clearly was being on the Bridge of the Klingon ship, but after that things became blurry. He assumed they had somehow survived and been rescued; he doubted very much that either side of the afterlife looked much like sickbay. He tried to move his right arm experimentally; pain exploded through his shoulder and chest. He clenched his teeth against a cry of pain but one of the monitors went crazy; whistling a shrill alarm. Within seconds, Phlox was by his side, administering a hypospray into the side of his neck; the pain dissipated to a dull, nagging ache and he exhaled a deep sigh of relief, tension running out of his taut muscles like melting ice.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," Phlox greeted him, with a small, tight smile, "you gave us all quite the scare..."

"How...?" Reed tried to form a question, but his mouth and throat were both desert dry, and his words were little more than a croak; "how long...?"

"It has been, ah, two days, since your return from the Klingon vessel," Phlox replied, gently, "you've had some fairly extensive surgery but I am sure you will make a full recovery. You need to rest; I'll inform the Captain that you've regained consciousness."

Reed did not reply as the doctor bustled away in the direction of his console; he had a vague notion that the captain would want to speak to him, but darkness was creeping across the edges of his vision. He wondered, fuzzily, if Phlox had intentionally included a sedative with the painkiller, and this was his last coherent thought before sleep claimed him once more.


	9. Chapter 9

Malcolm Reed's next awakening was somewhat more forceful; he jolted back to consciousness with a pained gasp, bewildered as to what had jarred him from his slumber. He did not wonder for long, as another impact slammed through the ship and he realised the cause; the _Enterprise_ was under attack and the jolts were the result of close quarters weapons fire. He managed to sit upright with some effort; gasps and moans around him told him that Sickbay was already receiving wounded crewmembers. Clad in nothing but his blue briefs, he clung to the edge of the bed and willed the dizziness and nausea to subside even as another blast rocked the ship. The ship-wide communications channel whistled an alert tone.

 _"_ _All hands, this is the Captain speaking – report to battle stations immediately! We are under attack – the Klingon vessel Somraw has emerged from the gas giant to engage us in combat and is ignoring all hails; all crew report to emergency battle stations, this is not a drill, repeat; this is not a drill!"_

Reed swore under his breath, his hand going instinctively to his wounded shoulder; the skin was a network of raw puckered scarring and healing tissue beneath the bandages. His duty station was on the Bridge, but he doubted he would be able to cross the room, let alone make it that far...

"...says they're using weird torpedoes..." a faint voice reached him through the privacy curtain; the sound of a panicked crewman talking to another; "...something about photonic energy signature... blew a hole straight through the hull on G Deck... never seen anything like it..."

 _Photonic energy..._ Reed thought, and his eyes widened as he recalled the weapons systems of the Klingon ship.

"Photon torpedoes!" he whispered, under his breath, "oh, hell!"

The jolt of adrenaline gave him the boost he needed. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his feet, and lurched away from the bed, cursing the weak, shaky feeling that immediately assailed him. He might not be able to get to the Bridge, but... he made it to the storage locker before anyone noticed.

"Lieutenant!" the doctor's stringent tones cut across the hubbub of sickbay, "You should not be out of bed!"

Reed ignored him, pulling out a generic uniform in his size. The act of getting dressed seemed like an insurmountable challenge, but he forced himself to do it quickly, ignoring the way his breath came in short, hitching gasps, along with the tightening pain in his shoulder and chest. He was just pulling on his boots when the doctor finally appeared at his side.

"What do you think you're doing?" the doctor's expression reflected his shock.

"We're under attack, doctor," he did not feel he should have to point out the obvious, "I need to be at my duty station..."

"You are not fit to be walking, let alone out of Sickbay..."

"I'm the only one on board who has seen those Klingon weapons," Reed found himself leaning heavily against the nearest bed, cursing his own weakness, "doctor, if I don't at least get to the Armoury, there won't be enough of a ship left to worry about."

"It's too soon for you to exert yourself - you won't make it to the end of the corridor!"

"Stimulant," Reed rasped out, hating how shaky his voice sounded, "just give me something, please. I'm the only one who can do this..."

The sickbay door opened again, admitting two crewmen who were supporting a badly-burned, semi-conscious member of the Engineering crew. Phlox glanced at them and then back at Reed, obviously torn.

"Quickly, doctor, please - before we all go down with the ship."

"Very well," Phlox reluctantly conceded, reaching for a hypospray, "but I expect you to report back to Sickbay as soon as possible - I really do not condone this course of action."

"Needs must, doctor," the Tactical Officer assured him.

Phlox delivered the injection quickly; "A very mild stimulant and an analgesic... be careful, Lieutenant."

With a stiff nod, Reed tried to force himself to stand upright as he left the infirmary. However, another blast rocked the ship, and he collided, hard, with the bulkhead, knocking the air from his lungs. With a yelp of pain and a hacking cough, he pitched to his knees. Staggering upright, he heard the communications relay once again calling all personnel to battle stations.

After what felt like an eternity, he stumbled into the Armoury, to barely controlled chaos. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, but this just set him off coughing again. A nearby Ensign caught his eye.

"Sir!" she exclaimed, "we thought you were in Sickbay!"

"I was," he replied, and then raised his voice, "report in!"

"We're under attack from the Klingons - they're using phased energy disruptor canons and torpedoes carrying a photonic energy signature. Hull plating is down to forty percent integrity, warp engines are offline, and we've got hull breaches on G and F Decks..."

"Get those torpedoes loaded and ready but don't fire until my command," Reed ordered, stumbling across to the console, "Timmins, Delaney, get down to Engineering, they're several hands short and I'm going to need all the power I can get. Nthemba, stand by, I may need your assistance..."

He crossed to the wall, accessing the communications system.

"Reed to Bridge; Hoshi, do you read me?"

 _"_ _Lieutenant?"_ the communications officer sounded astonished; in the background he could hear shouted voices, damage reports, tactical information, barked orders; it was barely controlled chaos as another explosion battered the ship; this time the lights flickered and waned, before emergency back-ups kicked in.

"Hoshi, no time to explain – those photon torpedoes the Klingons are using, do you remember translating the tactical console?"

 _"_ _Yes, but I don't remember anything specific..."_

"I do," Reed replied, breathlessly, massaging his aching shoulder, "can you put me through to the Captain? I think I know what to do."

 _"_ _Captain!"_ Hoshi called to Archer, _"Lieutenant Reed thinks he has a solution..."_

 _"_ _Patch him through,"_ Archer ordered, distantly, then his voice became clearer, " _go ahead, Malcolm."_

"Sir," he said, quickly, smothering a cough, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears, "the Klingons are using what they call photon torpedoes – they have a photonic energy signature causing a matter/anti-matter explosion on impact."

 _"_ _We've figured that much out already,"_ Archer told him, grimly, as the ship rocked again under a disruptor blast; Reed saw his console flicker as his subordinate on the Bridge made _Enterprise's_ own cannons sing out in reply, _"what did you have in mind?"_

"Well, sir, I got a good look at the tactical systems and if there's one thing I should be able to figure out, it's their weapons," he said, quickly, "I think I recall the command code for the torpedoes. If you can give me access to tactical from here, I can hack into their security systems."

 _"What good will that do? They'll just change the command code when they realise that they can't fire their weapons..."_

"I don't intend to stop them from firing, captain... I intend to detonate them inside the torpedo tubes. It should cripple their weapons..." _and probably most of their ship,_ he silently added.

Archer barely hesitated _; "Do it."_

There was hardly a missed beat when the tactical information flashed up on his console. He set to work, punching keys as swiftly as his one good arm would permit him, his right arm hanging uselessly by his side, pain flaring through his shoulder every time he took a ragged inhalation, trying not to gasp for air as his chest tightened with every breath. The Klingon computer defences were not on par with Starfleet's and he found it easy to worm into their systems; locating their equivalent of Tactical took only a few minutes.

 _"_ _Hurry, Malcolm! They're recharging their weapons!"_

He ignored the captain; his Tactical display had already warned him of the impending attack. He concentrated on his work, breaching firewalls and security lockouts with practices care as he probed his way through the weapons systems. He used the Universal Translator and the Klingon's own computer to identify the loaded torpedoes; they could either explode on impact with matter, or be detonated remotely. He programmed in a remote detonation sequence; by now, the Klingons would have noticed the override, so, without pausing to confirm the order to fire, he ordered the two loaded torpedoes to detonate. He held his breath; the sound of the explosion would be lost to the vacuum. His tactical display, however, registered an explosion, and his scanners confirming that his ploy had worked.

 _"_ _Bridge to Armoury!"_ Archer's jubilant tone told him all he needed to know, _"Malcolm, you did it! Their weapons systems are offline! Their reactor core is failing!"_

 _"_ _Captain, they're hailing us..."_

 _"_ _Sit tight, Malcolm, I'll be by later... Bridge out."_

Reed nodded a single, satisfied nod. Stepping away from the console, he raised his hand to his tight chest, straining to draw breath, the pain almost becoming too much to bear. A coughing fit doubled him over, and he was aware of someone rushing across the room to his side.

"Nthemba," he wheezed, eyes watering, bent over the console, his good arm clamped to his chest, "take over, would you...?"

"Sir? Are you okay?"

He tried to nod, but his knees buckled, and he grabbed onto the side of the torpedo launch tube for support. Nthemba was there, grasping his arm, her dark eyes wide with concern. He tried to wave her off.

"I'm fine," he rasped, hoarsely, "see to your station..."

Reluctantly, Nthemba nodded, and released him. Reed shivered, feeling sick and weak. He knew he should return to Sickbay, but he simply could not conceive of being able to walk that far. For lack of anything else to do, he lowered himself to the floor, leaning back against the torpedo tube. The deck plating was cold beneath his hands as he slumped back against the launch tube. A catch in his chest turned into a wracking, painful cough, leaving him gasping and wheezing. He trembled, feeling thoroughly spent and miserable, only half-listening as Nthemba spoke with her counterpart on the Bridge; it seemed that Archer had delivered an ultimatum to the Klingons, who had elected to leave the system, allowing the crew to turn straight away to repairing the ship and tending their wounded. Reed smothered a pained groan as his shoulder reminded him with a stab of agony that he was still one of those wounded, and it really was too soon for him to be up and about. He coughed again, pressing his good hand to his aching chest. He was semi-aware of Nthemba summoning Dr Phlox over the intercom.

"No need," he mumbled, "I can walk."

"I sincerely doubt that, sir," the African Ensign replied, a small smile gracing her lips as she crouched in front of him, "I really hope that this isn't insubordination, but you look like death warmed up, sir."

Reed choked on a laugh, coughing brutally into his cupped hand, shivering despite the sweat on his brow. He hated to admit it, but Phlox had been right - leaving Sickbay had not been the smartest move, even if it had been necessary.

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

"No, thank you," Reed managed to reply, though the effort of speaking was becoming difficult, "see to the repairs, would you? You're in charge until I get back..."

Black sparkles clustered at the edge of his vision as he felt his balance tip alarmingly to one side despite his seated position, not really hearing Nthemba's dismayed shout of alarm.

He did not even realise that he had lost consciousness until a strong hand gripped his good shoulder; "Lieutenant? Can you hear me?"

Forcing his eyes open, he found himself looking straight into Dr. Phlox's concerned features.

"Doctor," he whispered, "Sickbay... I know. I can make it..."

"No," Phlox replied, firmly, "I have brought a gurney, though, if you think you can stand for a moment?"

Reed was so exhausted that he did not have the strength to argue as Nthemba and Phlox helped him to his feet. He allowed the doctor to take his elbow and support him as he sat down on the edge of the gurney. Under Phlox's gentle but firm guiding hand, he sank down onto it gratefully, stretching out as he reclined, and allowed himself to succumb to the beckoning embrace of unconsciousness, even as he heard the now-familiar faint hiss accompanying the prick of a hypospray at his neck... then nothing.

* * *

A few days later, still confined to relative inactivity, Reed sat in the Mess Hall, nursing a mug of tea, once again getting used to having the use of both hands having just been released from the confines of a sling. His shoulder still ached dully; Phlox had told him that it would take several regenerative sessions and some extensive physiotherapy before he would get full use of it back, but he'd been assured that there would not even be a scar when the highly-skilled physician had finished. Archer had been to visit several times; a slight flush of embarrassment crept up his collar as he recalled the Captain's ebullient praise for his actions.

 _"_ _I was just doing my duty, sir_..."

 _"_ _Above and beyond, Malcolm. We'd waited to see if the Klingons would recover and effect repairs; they obviously did, but unfortunately they weren't especially grateful and attacked as soon as they left the atmosphere of the gas giant. After you crippled their ship, they hailed us, made a few generic threats, said that that we'd made an enemy of the Klingon Empire – which, from what I've read, is easy to do – cursed our cowardice in using their own weapons against them, and then took off. I've told Trip to remind me to stop helping people... oh, and I'm going to be endorsing T'Pol's recommendation for your commendation..."_

"I thought I'd find you here," a voice said, from somewhere behind and above him, cutting across his thoughts.

Reed startled and half-rose, but Trip Tucker waved him back into his seat with a casual flap of his hand.

"Commander," Reed greeted him, "how go the repairs?"

"Slow progress, but at least there's progress," Trip replied, stretching undoubtedly sore muscles, "though the rumour-mill has it you're the one who saved our butts, and all from your deathbed..."

"I wasn't dying and I wasn't actually in bed," Reed groused, "that's overly dramatic."

"Dramatic?" Trip gave him a grin that did not quite reach the Engineer's sparkling blue eyes, "You don't know nothin' – that shuttlepod ride back from the _Somraw_ was dramatic enough for me..."

"Ah... yes," Reed glanced away, his voice softening slightly, "my apologies, Commander – I am told I have you to thank for saving us..."

"It's Trip, Malcolm – we're off duty, remember? And yeah, it was me came to get you, but T'Pol flew us back. I was tryin' to hold your shoulder together with nothin' more than a rag and a prayer while you were bleedin' all over the place. Honestly thought we were gonna loose you..."

"Sorry," Reed said, reflexively, unable to think of much else to say, "but thanks again for the rescue. We wouldn't have got out alive if you hadn't come for us. Well, I certainly wouldn't have."

"You can call it evens," this time, Trip's grin was genuine, "you still saved us all and you did when by all accounts you should have been in Sickbay. Nice trick with the Klingon computer, by the way – where'd you learn to hack a system like that?"

"Comes with security training," Reed replied, blithely, evasively, taking a sip of his tea, "besides, although I may not be able to read or speak Klingon, if there's one thing I do know; it's how to blow things up."

"And I know how to fix them," Trip raised his mug of coffee in mock salute, "here's to fixin' things that can be fixed and blowin' up the things that can't."

"I'll drink to that. Cheers."

They clinked mugs and drank, and Trip favoured him with another grin.

"Long may we continue to do both, eh, Malcolm?"

"Amen to that... Trip."

* * *

 _Finis_


End file.
